


The Phantom of The Ministry

by telltalehemingway



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempted Murder, Aurors, Comatose Harry, Curse Breaking, Curses, Dark Magic, Department of Mysteries, F/M, HP: EWE, Injured Harry, Investigations, Malfoy Manor, Ministry of Magic, Murder, Murder Mystery, My First Work in This Fandom, Rating May Change, Redeemed Lucius, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Work In Progress, former Hannah/Neville, former Narcissa/Lucius
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-09-08 04:06:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8829880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telltalehemingway/pseuds/telltalehemingway
Summary: Ron and Harry investigate a strange murder where the only suspect has disappeared. While in the course of the investigation, Harry stumbles upon a strong, dark curse that sends him with a seemingly one-way ticket into a coma. Now with the time ticking and Ron upset that he wasn't there, he and Hermione rush to try and find a solution; of course, they both go about it in different ways. With their investigations diverging, Hermione finds herself meeting with a stranger and he provides valuable insight into the world of curses. She is reluctant to trust him, but if she doesn't, her dearest friend's life is at stake. But who is the masked man? And why does he seem so familiar?Eventual LM/HG. No Weasley bashing that wasn't in canon.





	1. Prologue

Ronald Weasley was not unused to travelling through Diagon Alley with his children in tow. With his youngest daughter starting Hogwarts this year, it was with great relief that it would be the last time he’d have to escort his three children and his long-suffering wife through the crowded shops and throngs of people to purchase the needed items on the school list. The family had divided up; his wife had taken the two boys to go shop for new robes and possibly a new broom for their oldest, while Ron had taken their daughter to Flourish and Blotts for the last books they needed to buy before they would be all finished.

It was there that Ronald surveyed the newly released titles while young Rose went about collecting the books she needed. He had offered to help but the young thing was terribly independent and had insisted on doing it herself. Ron was proud of that independent streak, though he was certain it would get her into trouble at school. Then again, what would be new about that?

He smiled to himself as he flipped through the new titles, passing over the new addition to a popular arithmancy series and a few potions books that always seemed to be popular these days. It seemed that young witches were more desperate than ever to find a perfected love potion and various authors of even more varying reputations were eager to provide reading material for them. It was a booming business and Ron made a mental note to have someone look into it that it wasn’t becoming a epidemic of misinformation. He frowned at the thought that someone could potentially influence or take advantage of his young Rose by possibly brewing up amortentia and dosing her with it. No, he shook his head, that was extremely unlikely.

Ron was about to turn away from the new arrivals and scan a look around for Rose when a title caught his eye. The book was two-of-his-fingers thick and the outside cover was a simple dark gray with silver embellished words on the front and spine to reveal the title and author. Ron reached out and picked up a copy, the sunlight glinting off the silver-gilded words and he ran a finger over the ‘H. Granger’ at the bottom of the cover.

 _Oh, Hermione._

A wave of sadness crested over him at that moment and he had to swallow once to find himself without the ability to be upset in public. It had all happened a long time ago, after all, and he no longer felt so strongly about all that had happened. However, seeing her name suddenly like this would sometimes bring up the old emotions and he couldn’t ever truly forget her and what they’d once had.

“What’s that, daddy?” A small voice asked from beside him and Ron looked down to see bright orange hair and crystal blue eyes looking back at him curiously.

“A second-edition book written by an old friend.” He replied and set the book entitled _Memoirs of A Fantastic Life_ down and took the cauldron full of books that Rose had selected. Rose waited patiently as he checked off what she had picked with what the list required. Seeing that everything was in order, Ron nodded and they started to the counter where they would pay. They had to wait in line, but Ron’s mind was lost on the book that he’d returned to the shelf.

He missed Hermione sometimes. He was happy with his life and he’d married well and would not trade his children for anything in the world. But sometimes, sometimes he wondered what could have been if Hermione had not gone the way she had. Sometimes he wondered if he would have been happier with her if the events of that winter had not transpired the way they had, if the murders had never been committed.

Sometimes he wondered those things, but when Rose looked at him with an innocent expression and a request to visit uncle George’s shop before they returned home to see nana (likely with something that would scare Ron’s poor mother half to death from said shop), Ron found himself amused and pushed those old thoughts aside.

Hermione was gone now and had been for many years. It was just time to let her go forever, he thought, and began to count up the money needed for Rose’s books.


	2. A Change in Leadership

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely reviews and those who read the first part! I promise things will kick off from here, and the story won't be too terribly long, just about 13 parts altogether I think. Again, please let me know what you think, and here we go! :)

It was with great reluctance that Hermione roused herself from her bed when the clock struck half past seven. She’d been having a lovely dream, though she couldn’t quite remember the details of it, but she had been positive it had been pleasant when the chimes had started to go off. She’d enchanted it to play the beginning notes of her favorite Muggle musical as it didn’t annoy her after repetitive use and it was loud and sudden enough to pull her from the deepest slumber. Ron hated it. More often than not, he would jerk awake at the sound of it; cringing and pulling blankets with him as he did so, leaving Hermione to freeze in the cold air of their shared bedroom which would wake her more than the organ music ever would.

This morning was no exception.

Ron groaned and turned away from her, blankets going with him, and Hermione pushed herself up to catch the corner of the heaviest quilt to keep it over herself. She placed her elbows on her knees and put her head in her hands as she yawned and tried to find the will to actually get out of bed. Already her mind was going over her schedule for the day and she knew a large department meeting would be waiting on her shortly after her arrival.

Hermione yawned one last time and pushed herself sleepily out of bed and to the lavatory to begin getting ready. She brushed her teeth and made the attempt to brush out the mass of hair that was a lovely nest after sleeping on it without having put it up the night before. She winced a few times from the strength of her pulling the brush through it a few times, before giving up and deciding to put it in the simplest style she could when it was like this—a bun. Making quick work of her wardrobe selection for the day and even quicker applications of make up, she was almost ready to go.

By this point, ten minutes to eight, Ron was pulling himself up out of bed. Hermione was slightly surprised; if he continued at this rate he might be early. That would be unusual indeed. She didn’t comment on it, and finished putting on her shoes before moving over to the side of the bed to give him a small kiss.

“Good morning, Ron.”

“Morning, ‘Mione.” He yawned half-way through and Hermione’s nose wrinkled at the not-so-delightful smell of morning breath.

“See you for dinner?” She called as she started for the doorway.

“Unless something comes up, of course.” He agreed and then laid back down. Hermione shook her head and started out to the kitchen. She waved her wand and her lunch began to pack itself along with her breakfast. She would eat in her office at the Ministry before her meeting. She picked up the _Daily Prophet_ from the windowsill where their owl had delivered it that morning and scanned the front page. Nothing of note was calling out to her, but she did make sure to take out the page that had a coupon on it for Flourish and Blotts and made a mental note to go before the sale ended that weekend.

Hermione slid into her coat before she grabbed the strap of her lunch bag and slid it over her arm along with her purse and started for the door, leaving the _Prophet_ on the table for Ron to review the Quidditch results and started to the apparation point across the street from their block of flats in West London. Ron technically didn’t have to be in for work until nine and he often would slide into his shared office at about a quarter-till. Hermione didn’t understand how he could possibly be settled with that little amount of time between his arrival and the shift’s start time, but that was neither here nor there as she often gave herself at least a half hour’s amount of lee-way.

Once she arrived at the Ministry, she said good morning to the receptionist as she always did and headed across the atrium to the lifts. This morning, however, seemed to be a bit busier than usual for a Monday. Witches and wizards and flying memos were buzzing around and Hermione was surprised to see such activity for this early hour.

She arrived at the bank of lifts just as one arrived and before she could get to the door it was mostly already full and the queue for the next one was beginning. She sighed and hated when the Ministry was this busy; it might take her up to ten minutes just to get to her office at this rate. As the list of things that she could no longer do if she was indeed ten minutes late—which was still officially thirty minutes early—began to tally, she didn’t notice the others around her taking a step back as a direct result of the man who came to stand next to her elbow.

Hermione chewed her lip as the next lift arrived and stepped in, followed by the man on her right, and she was surprised when the crush of people did not join them. The only people who could usually garner such freedom of personal space was the minister himself or someone with a dark reputation. She glanced to her right and confirmed that it was not Kingsley standing next to her, but the senior Malfoy instead.

He caught her look and raised an eyebrow and Hermione spoke politely instead of ignoring him or feeling embarrassed for having been caught looking.

“Good morning, Mister Malfoy.” She spoke politely.

“Miss Granger.” He replied silkily and Hermione inclined her head in acknowledgement as the lift doors closed but they didn’t go anywhere. Realizing the problem, they both reached for the lift gear to set a destination. Hermione withdrew her hand from Lucius’ gloved one and he gestured to the mechanism. “Please…I am certain you have more important places to be than I.”

Hermione was surprised at his politeness, but didn’t hesitate to accept his offer. She moved the mechanism so that the lift began to go in the direction of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement’s wing. Curious, she watched to see which way Lucius was going, but he didn’t change the course of the elevator. It was silent between the two of them in the few moments it took for their travel and so Hermione used the time to study the elder Malfoy while trying to be discreet about it.

She had seen him in the Ministry a few times since the last trial he had given evidence at for the Death Eaters, but this was the closest she’d been to him in years. His hair was still a vibrant platinum color, but she guessed that there was more white in it than there had been once, but she wasn’t going to lean forward to look through the strands. He was also much thinner than he used to be and he seemed to have sharper facial features as a result. He wasn’t gaunt, and his clothes certainly didn’t hang off of his frame, but she could imagine that his robes had to have been taken in. He still wore black, so it was hard to tell just how thin he actually was. His eyes also had a wariness that hadn’t been there before; not that Hermione was going to take the time to study _those_ for very long, she’d be caught staring for sure.

Still, he must have noticed what she was doing as he met her eyes and lifted that eyebrow again. He didn’t have to speak for her to get the gist and she looked away. Inexplicably, she felt her cheeks redden slightly.

She didn’t have to say anything, however, as the lift announced their arrival at her floor and Hermione stepped out. She felt like she should say something, but she was torn between ‘have a nice day’ and ‘sorry’, and couldn’t make up her mind in enough time before the lift doors closed so she said nothing at all. Shaking her head, Hermione continued on to her office and sat at her desk.

She was the only one in this early and she enjoyed the quiet without the others of their small section to bother her. Her superior was an aging witch named Adria Estella and Hermione knew the woman was looking to retire to Cornwall soon. She had grandchildren and a Pomeranian that she wanted to spend more time with, and Hermione had an inclination that the meeting this morning would be her announcing that and making it official.

Hermione felt a tremor of excitement run through her system at the prospect. She would be sad to lose Adria’s guidance and the woman was a truly great mentor, but Hermione _had_ been in the department the longest, with the exception of Adria, of course. No one else volunteered like Hermione did, no one was there as early or as long as Hermione was, and no one had as high a success rate of getting reforms to the Wizengamot as Hermione did. The things she could do as department head would be amazing; the sky would be the limit. Adira had even tipped her the nod that Hermione was strongly being considered for taking over. They’d had a few private meetings about it.

The only thing Hermione thought may be a detractor from her actually being the promotion was the fact she was so young. Hermione guessed that Adria was either fifty or just over and had spent a great deal of time working up to even be the head of the department rather than enjoying the new position. Adria also had to spend most of the time supervising the rest of the team over petty matters instead of focusing on improving the lives of non-human creatures, which was the real goal of their work. Hermione’s heart reached out to her for that; Adria had wanted to do great things but had been limited by inner-office bickering.

The thought of Hermione’s two opposing co-workers made her frown. They were supposed to be on the same side of improving the quality of life for non-wizards or witches, yet no matter what they were supposed to be doing nothing it seemed would make Alphard Gamp or Abel Paisley like one another enough to proceed with working together. Why one of them hadn’t been transferred, Hermione didn’t know, but once she was in charge, she would see that it was done and Alphard would be sent to another department, if only so that the rest of their small team could focus on what was really important.

Hermione opened her lunch bag and pulled out the items she’d packed for breakfast. She reviewed yesterday’s reports while she ate and soon got lost in her work, even though she officially wasn’t even on the clock for another twenty minutes.

It wasn’t much longer before Adria came in and greeted Hermione on the way past to her own office. Hermione mumbled a hello but continued reading while she finished her cereal. She missed Adria’s pitying look entirely. 

A few moments after her boss, the remaining members of the team trickled in. Alphard was louder than usual as he spoke to the quietest member of their team, Apolline Vector who was recently graduated from Hogwarts but had a remarkable ability to handle timid or shy creatures with a soft hand but who wasn’t so good at standing up for herself. Alphard appeared not to notice this about her as he often spoke over her or ordered her about; one of these days, Hermione was going to jinx him into next week if he didn’t lay off, but she hadn’t gotten around to it. Yet.

Abel Paisley arrived with his best friend and the last member of their team, the silent-but-resourceful Modoc Munslow. Abel was a good employee and Hermione often tried to partner with him on assignments because he, like her, could hold up their half of a deal and he didn’t complain about it. Apolline was her second choice of work partner because the girl did try hard and was sweet, if a bit in her shell. Hermione had taken her under her wing and had even had her round for tea a few times. Apolline, once she had some real world experience, would likely stop being a wall-flower enough to be the next Hermione once Hermione was the department head.

Modoc was also good to work with as well, but he wasn’t overly talkative which would mean she would have to do the talking if they needed to arrange a charity evening or something. He was good with finding money or housing for those who would need it; Hermione couldn’t understand how someone like that was so stoic and anti-social. She wasn’t complaining, however as he definitely was her third-favorite person to work with after his best friend.

The office settled into their normal Monday routine for the first two hours before Adria called them into a meeting in their conference room. It was big enough to hold about ten people and it was opposite of their cluster of offices and right beside the break room. Further down the hall, other departments of Magical Law Enforcement were found as well as another bank of elevators that went back into the bowels of the Ministry.

Adria shut the door behind herself once the last of the team, Alphard, had taken his seat at the round table in the center of the room. However, unlike a normal Monday-morning meeting, this one had Kingsley joining them. It was very, very rare for the Minister to attend office meetings, never mind one on a Monday morning. He gave a nod to Hermione’s quizzical look but he waited for Adria to come further into the room before he spoke.

“Thank you all for coming in.” Adria moved over to her seat as Kingsley began the meeting. “I hope all of you had a pleasant weekend?” He paused and allowed everyone to give a nod. “Very good. Well, we have some news to share with you before you get back to work. Adria.”

Kingsley went quiet as Adria addressed them.

“Without taking up too much of your time, I just wanted to let you all know that I have decided to retire.” She paused as Apolline began to protest while Alphard offered his congratulations. Adria smiled politely before continuing. “Friday will be my last day and in the meantime, I need to let you know who will be replacing me as head of the department.”

The room seemed to wait with baited breath waiting for her to speak again.

Hermione found herself clutching her hands in her lap waiting to hear her name. She could taste it and she had to remind herself to calm down and that nothing had been announced yet. 

“After much consideration and thought on the matter, I’ve decided that my replacement should definitely come from within the department itself, since an outsider wouldn’t quite be able to get up to our speed as quickly as someone within the department already could.”

Hermione knew she would have a lot to learn and would need to know what to do and how to be a manager of other people and not just tasks. She could handle it; she wouldn’t let Adria or Kingsley down. She definitely wouldn’t let herself down.

“I have decided that Alphard will be the new department head.”

Hermione stared at Adria and blinked once. “Pardon?”

Modoc’s face went even more impassive if that was even possible. Abel’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened as he didn’t speak but definitely appeared as if he wanted to. Alphard looked smug as usual while poor Apolline looked in Hermione’s direction in confusion.

“Alphard will be the new head. I will make sure he is well trained before I leave and will be available to consult for the first few weeks of my retirement should I be needed.” Adria replied softly, kindly, to Hermione as she watched the young witch.

Kingsley jumped back in to field the others’ questions as Adria maintained eye contact with Hermione who was still in a state of shock and desperately trying to not be upset in front of the others. Hermione couldn’t believe it; she _refused_ to believe it. How could this have possibly happened?

“So, that will conclude today’s meeting. If you have any other questions or concerns, you may speak to myself or Adria while she remains. Thank you everyone.” Kingsley said by way of dismissal of the group and Hermione remained seated. She likely looked as if she were in a state of shock, but that’s what she was, wasn’t it? She couldn’t believe it. All of her hard work…

“Hermione?” Adria touched her arm lightly. Hermione hadn’t even realized that the older witch had moved. “Hermione, we’ll talk later about it, ok?”

The kindness in her boss’ voice is what nearly broke Hermione. She nodded, pushing past her disappointed tears and pushed herself out of the chair. She gathered the notepad and quill she had brought with her and gave her boss a sharp nod before turning to leave the small conference room.

She didn’t look at Kingsley as she went past.

\--------------------

The Leaky Cauldron was not the most charming or refined of pubs and bars in Diagon Alley, but it was the closest from Flourish and Blotts where Hermione had spent nearly an hour of retail therapy trying to forget about the exceptionally irksome day that followed one of the worst meetings of Hermione’s professional career. Hermione hadn’t really found anything new in the bookshop that she had particularly wanted, so she had left with only a slim volume of poetry by a French witch that sounded promising. Before she had left the Ministry, Hermione had sent an owl asking to meet up with Ginny after work. Her best friend had replied within an hour agreeing to meet at the pub for a quick dinner. Ginny had relayed the information that Harry and Ron would be out potentially late as a new case had come up around noon.

With that information in hand, Hermione had left work for the day and had pretended that her first-thing meeting that morning had never happened.

Ginny had arrived first and had taken a table near the back of the pub. Hermione made her way quickly over and something must have shown on her face because Ginny took one look at her and went, “Oh no. What’s happened?”

Hermione had left the tale out of her quick message earlier and she shook her head while sitting down. “I need a drink first.”

“On a Monday? Merlin, it must be something terrible!” Ginny exclaimed but flagged down the newly-appointed landlady of the pub, Hannah Abbott, and proceeded to order one firewhiskey and a butterbeer.

“All right ladies?” Hannah asked when she returned with the drinks and distributed them.

“We’re okay.” Ginny said by way of reply as Hermione went straight for her drink. “How’s Neville doing?”

A look of hurt went skittering across Hannah’s face. Ginny started to retract her statement, but Hannah was too-quick to reply before she could.

“I’m sure he’s just _fine_. Though you really would have to ask him to be sure as we broke up the other week.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Hermione replied and she meant it. She had thought that the pair would marry and hadn’t meant to hurt Hannah’s feelings.

Ginny echoed Hermione’s sentiments and added, “what happened?”

Hannah shook her head as she kept an eye on an unruly table across the pub. “It was just time that we married or didn’t, and I felt one way about it and he felt the other.”

Hermione wasn’t sure what to say so she just repeated that she was sorry. Ginny did the same and Hannah gave them a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I’ll be all right. I’m too young to settle down into marriage just now, but he didn’t quite see it that way. I’ll be back in just a few moments to get your order.” Hannah started off while Ginny and Hermione exchanged a look before they sipped their drinks.

“Poor Neville.” Ginny said.

Hermione nodded. “He’ll be fine, I think. He and Hannah were a good match though, I thought. But what do I know?”

“What’s my oaf of a brother done now?” Ginny asked and Hermione shook her head.

“Nothing. Truly, nothing. He’s been rather sweet of late.” Hermione replied and then frowned. Ron _had_ been rather sweet lately. “Why, do you know something I don’t?”

“Not at all.” Ginny replied and then smiled to herself. “I’m just saying that if I were you, I would plan for some time off in the future.”

Hermione debated that in her mind a moment as Hannah returned for their order. Ginny ordered for the pair of them as they both always got the same thing when they went to the Leaky Cauldron.

“So what happened today at work?” Ginny asked once Hannah had left for the second time.

Hermione launched into the entire sordid story, starting from the beginning of the meeting to the end. Ginny listened quietly and only interrupted with a few exclamations when Hermione told her just who her next boss was going to be.

“What a fuckwit. I’m sorry, love.” Ginny replied and laid her hand on Hermione’s arm. “Is there nothing that can be done?”

Hermione shook her head. “No. I asked Kingsley when I caught him in the hallway just after and he apologized but said there was nothing he could do. And it wouldn’t be right for him to interfere anyway; it’s a department matter, nothing criminal that he could do. It’s just sadly a matter of incompetence.”

She sighed and wanted to beat her head against the table.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad? He can’t screw up too terribly or they will replace him, and then they would pick you for sure.” Ginny tried for hopeful but Hermione shook her head.

“It’s a mess that shouldn’t be like this anyway. _I_ was the one who should be in charge, and I’m not just saying that.”

The two lapsed into quiet and finished their drinks. The firehwhiskey was helping but Hermione could do with another before she left for the night.

“Have you and Harry set a date yet, or are you going to go the Hannah route?” Hermione tried to tease and Ginny took the bait graciously with a smile.

“I’ve cornered him toward the beginning of summer. We can have our honeymoon somewhere warm, perhaps with a beach?” Ginny started on about the potential wedding plans and Hermione relaxed into the normal flow of time spent out with Ginny.

She was pleased for her two friends and was glad that they had one another. It made her think of her and Ron’s future a little bit.

She was comfortable with Ron and knew there wasn’t going to be the possibility she was going to walk in on a wild orgy or crazy party from him. He was of good humor and cheer most of the time unless there was a particularly taxing case on at work, and then he would just be a little bit more quiet when at home and would often be lost in thought. He cleaned up after himself, attempted cooking occasionally, and usually returned home with flowers for her on Tuesdays when the stand outside the Ministry had the fresh ones brought in if neither of them were working late. He liked going out with Harry and a few other lads from Gryffindor, especially if a Quidditch match was on.

Ron was solid, reliable, and perfectly comfortable. Hermione enjoyed that about their time together and could see a life built with him. Perhaps with one or two kids in a few years once she did make department head…Only now, that might have to wait a little bit longer, she thought with a sour expression.

“…and I’ve lost you again.” Ginny replied and Hermione looked apologetic.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about Ron.”

Ginny smiled knowingly. “I’m glad you two have each other. I can’t picture you two with anyone else.”

Hermione smiled good-naturedly as she withdrew a few coins to settle her half of the bill. She couldn’t see herself with anyone else either, and that was why she hadn’t ever tried. Ron was good for her, and the suited nicely. She and Ginny started for the door, continuing to talk about Ginny’s wedding to Harry and Hermione felt relaxed for the first time all day. Smiling, she even took Ginny’s arm in her own as they walked past the tables and into the cool night air.

\------  
As the two witches started out of the pub, the figure at the table behind them settled his own bill and stood also. With a swish of his black cloak, he left the bar and no one seemed the wiser for his absence. In fact, it was as if he had never been there at all.


	3. Not Quite Right, On Both Counts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay. The holidays and all that fun stuff. Thank you for being patient!

The following morning, Hermione decided that she was going to be intentionally late to work for the first time in the history of her professional career. It was going to be her form of protest, but she _had_ made sure that her personal leave time would cover her few-hours absence first. As a result, she was seated at the breakfast table in her shared flat sipping her tea at just past eight. She had the _Prophet_ in front of her, but she wasn’t really reading it so much as contemplating what she was going to do. She had already eaten most of her breakfast of eggs and toast, but she had lost track of her thoughts to the point where she hadn’t realized she had stopped eating.

She hated to think that she had been passed over because of office politics, but she feared that was what it could have been. She knew there was absolutely no flaw in her work or her performance. She was never tardy or absent without prior notification to her superiors. The others on her team, with the exception of Alphard, held the same high standard. Apolline sometimes made it in with only a hairsbreadth of time to go, but she was rarely ever actually overdue. Alphard on the other hand…

With a sour expression, Hermione paused on a mental list of all of Alphard’s flaws. She glanced up when she heard a noise coming from down the short hallway of the flat. The footsteps neared and a freshly-showered Ron dressed in his auror robes was coming down at nearly-eight in the morning. Hermione couldn’t believe it.

“Where are you off to so early?” She asked, barely remembering him coming in late last night after she had already gone to bed. He’d interrupted a rather odd dream, from what trails of it she could remember. Before much thought could be spared for that again, however, Ron answered her question.

“Back to the Ministry. Harry and I have a case.” He looked tired and Hermione frowned, setting the _Prophet_ aside entirely.

“Oh? You still don’t normally go in quite this early…” Hermione trailed off, hoping that he would continue.

She really did like when he discussed work as sometimes his cases brought about great puzzles that she would try and help solve when she could. The different suspects or what had transpired reminded her of her Muggle upbringing and the murder shows that would be on television. She didn’t like the fact someone had died, but the sense of bringing someone to justice—and making sure it was the right person with the clues left behind—was something she did enjoy discussing. Ron had suggested she try and move over to the auror side of things since she liked those conversations so much. Hermione would usually brush that aside; she liked it, but she wasn’t sure she would want to do that for her career. However, there were things he couldn’t tell her sometimes out of privacy or confidentiality reasons, and she didn’t like those times. Partly because she wasn’t privy to a good story, but mostly because she and Ron were too curious for their own good. When cases had a tendency to take up most of Ron’s time, those were the types of cases which were typically more dangerous or risky and she didn’t want anything bad to happen to him.

“It’s a bad one and there’s not much to go on at all.” He said, sinking down into the chair opposite her. Hermione poured him a cup of coffee and waited patiently as Ron sipped it and stole a bite of her toast. Hermione pushed the plate in his direction and he quickly set about finishing off the remnants of her breakfast.

“A family was killed in Hampshire, but I’ve not seen anything like it before.” Ron frowned as he finished off the toast with a large gulp.

“What makes it odd?”

“There’s no trace of anyone else being there. Not a signature or footprint, nothing. We have two suspects, and both are unlikely, but one of them we can’t find.”

“Wouldn’t that make them more likely to be the culprit then?” Hermione asked.

“You would think, but the neighbor who mentioned them is a Muggle and is describing a young, young girl. The family in question didn’t have a child of that description nor did any of the other neighbors. So where did the girl come from and, more importantly, where did she go?”

Hermione frowned as she thought it all over. Ron stood up and took the plate to the sink before waving his wand over the dishes. He had them cleaned and put away before Hermione could come out of her thoughts about the new case. He moved over and stood next to her chair.

“I will try and be home earlier tonight, but I can’t promise anything now. You know how it can be…” He spoke softly, trailing off as he did so, and Hermione nodded, coming out of her trance.

“It’s quite alright, I understand.” She looked up at him and gave him a soft smile. His eyes were kind, but his expression remained serious as he leaned down and kissed her softly. Hermione returned it easily and lingered in his warmth for a few moments before he ended the contact between them.

“I’ll see you tonight then ‘Mione. I love you.” He said already on his way out to the door.

“I love you too, Ron.” She replied, watching him leave over her shoulder. He smiled at her, more easily than the first time, and then he left the flat. She heard the soft ‘pop’ of his apparation just outside the door and she let out a breath.

She thought about his case for a moment longer and shook her head. That would be a tough one to solve, especially if the only witness to the girl’s appearance was a Muggle. Witnesses were tricky things anyway, but when it was a non-magic user that had seen something, it was harder to explain than if it were another witch or wizard. Not to mention they would have to have their memory altered afterwards. Hermione wondered what Harry and Ron would uncover; she already was looking forward to when he returned with more information.

Hermione rose from her chair and looked at the time. If she left now, she would still be on time for work. The itch to be on time was there in great force, but Hermione still refused to just show up as normal, as if everything were fine. Things were _not_ fine. The rational part of her mind told her she was overreacting and that this wasn’t the way to go about it, but her feelings were hurt deep down and she _did_ deserve the promotion, didn’t she? Instead of grabbing her bag and lunch like she normally did, Hermione walked right into the living room and stretched out on the sofa. Merlin, she might even just take the day off. She hadn’t had one of those in a while apart from that one time she had gotten the flu and Ron had practically chained her ankle to the bed so she wouldn’t try to escape. She had been so run down that she’d slept for almost three days in between bouts of coughing and general disgust that came with such infections.

As she contemplated the idea by staring at the white moulding in the upper corner of the room, Hermione’s mind started to wander back to the strange dream she had had the night before. It had been a strange dream, one she had almost forgotten and it was made more difficult to recall because it kept trying to slip away from her, like mist through her fingers. It was as if the dream didn’t want to be found lurking in her subconscious, as if it were a living thing rather than just a dream. That fact made Hermione all the more curious about it which explained why she was devoting so much of her time trying to decipher it. Every so often her train of thought would be distracted by being late to work or Ron’s case, but she would force herself back onto subject of the oddness of her original reverie.

Hermione briefly wondered if a pensieve would not help her with trying to recall it but decided against it. She had read once in a book of Eastern magical theory that if a person entered a lightly meditative state they would potentially have better recall of dreams, even interacting with them if need be. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds before releasing it slowly. She repeated the technique a few times and let her mind clear as she thought of the previous evening.

She had gone to bed as usual after her bath, hair braided to try and make it somewhat more manageable the subsequent morning. She’d put on one of her favorite lavender-scented lotions and had tucked into bed with a good book and her warm blankets. The lavender and book soothed her mind until she had gotten into such a drowsy state she couldn’t focus on the words on the page any longer. She had put her book on the bedside table, turned off the light, and had settled into bed to sleep. Hermione wasn’t sure how long she had been out of it before she found herself in a familiar place.

She had been walking down a corridor, perhaps in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry. It was dark and seemed to have been after hours as there was no one really around. For a brief moment, Hermione was reminded of her fifth year when she and the others of Dumbledore’s Army had gone to the Department to retrieve the prophecy. This time, however, there was no veil, no Death Eaters, and she was entirely alone. Something crawled along her skin, a sensation of apprehension to be on her guard and Hermione thought she may have drawn her wand for protection.

Near the end of the hallway, she had turned the corner where she became even more certain that she was in the Department of Mysteries. The hallway and walls were black marble slabs, torches of blue light illuminated the hallway and the door she had seen before that led to the circular room stood at the end. Hermione felt something nauseous settle in her stomach as she found herself moving towards it. She heard nothing apart from her own footsteps echoing on the stone and briefly wondered if this was what Harry had experienced every night that year before that fateful meeting.

Hermione was stopped before she could reach the circular room by a clearing of the throat from behind her. She spun on her heel, wand at the ready to stun, but was stopped by a tall dark figure’s hands raised in supplication. She reluctantly lowered her wand to a less aggressive stance but still a prepared one, and narrowed her eyes at the figure.

“What do you want?” She had asked without waiting for the other person to speak. They were glamored, face shrouded in shadow and their features distorted to make them entirely unrecognizable. It could be Harry for all she knew as the magic that created the persona was so well executed. “Why am I here?”

“It was wrong of them to do what they did to you.” The stranger said, lowering their hands but still keeping them where she could see them. This person was clearly smart enough to try and make themselves seem less threatening. Hermione still remained prepared, just in case.

“What are you on about?”

“Your department, your promotion. It has come to my attention that you were overlooked.” The figure studied her and Hermione studied it, but came to no conclusion. Their disguise was just too well done.

“What concern is it of yours about my job?” She asked defensively.

“Officially, I have no interest. However, I feel as though you should have been rewarded for your labors. You have done well for yourself, Miss Granger. Fighting for what you believe in and all of those…beliefs…are well-intentioned.”

“You make it sound like an accusation.” Her suspicions were raised. Whoever this was sounded as if they weren’t supportive of the Ministry’s efforts to disrupt the blood-status quo as it had once been. Any time a person like that came into her sights, Hermione was always more observant of them.

“Perhaps it would have been once.”

“When Voldemort was in power you mean?” The glamor flickered for just a moment, as if the person conjuring it had trouble listening to the former Dark Lord’s name so casually thrown about. Hermione made a mental note of that.

“Regardless of former beliefs, what you do now is what counts. And you, Miss Granger, are trying harder than most to improve the lives of _all_ , not just the few or the victors. I commend you for this.”

“Thank you, I guess. You still haven’t answered my question. What concern is it of yours about my job?” She felt like putting her hands on her hips and demanding answers, but her mysterious flatterer was neglecting to be forthcoming with answers and seemed to like their conjured persona.

“As I have said, your job is really no concern of mine. However,” the stranger advanced a few steps in her direction and Hermione gripped her wand’s handle a little bit tighter just in case. “I also do not like it when I see an injustice in the world, especially these days. I think we could be beneficial to one another, Miss Granger.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “How?”

“For a start, you must continue to try and advance in your department. After all, you _do_ deserve your position there and the Ministry would benefit having an ambitious young witch such as yourself in control of such a progressive department.” The figure stopped nearby, but the upper torso of the man—she believed as much anyway—was shrouded in shadow that even the Department of Mysteries’ torches could not dispel. “You must never stop asking questions or looking into matters, no matter what your new superiors have to say. Something is not right there, and you must find it out.”

“And what do you want from me?” Hermione asked, trying desperately to peer through the blackness and pick out a feature, any feature, from the man speaking to her.

The glamor shifted one last time and Hermione managed a brief glimpse of a smile, but no more other than pale skin before it had disappeared behind the fog once again. The voice was speaking to answer her question but the meditative state could only do so much before Hermione was propelled out of the dream and she was sat bolt upright in her sitting room, the afternoon sun leaving longer shadows trailing through the window.

Hermione quickly consulted her watch and then groaned when she noticed the shift of light. She had missed practically an entire workday.

She put her head in her hands and tried to recall more of the dream, and this time it came clearer than it had before, but pieces were still missing. She would need to speak to Harry just to see if her story was matching up to what he had been through previously, but she reasoned it was safe to say that a powerful wizard had forged a connection between her and themselves in order to perform legilimency between the two of them. That thought troubled her greatly, especially as she was having trouble recalling all aspects of the dream and what the perpetrator had asked for at the very end. Hermione pushed herself off of the sofa and started looking through the books on the shelf to find more information on the practice.

The wizard, because she believed that the glamor could only do so much and she had yet to meet a witch that was _that_ tall, would have to be extremely talented to maintain a shrouded cover of their face and voice while simultaneously performing so clear a connection between two minds. She already could think of a few wizards who fit that description. The trouble was proof and it was hardly easy to find clues from the inside of ones mind that would hold up before the Wizengamot.

Hermione’s mind was running at an alarming rate and she made herself stop, sit down, and take a deep breath. She would definitely need to speak to Harry about this, and then immediately learn occlumency. She couldn’t risk this happening again, under any circumstances.

Nodding to herself, she went over to her desk to draft a quick note to Harry and then sent her and Ron’s shared owl on her way before turning back to the lounge. She had lost track of time twice: once during the night when the actual dream had occurred and had been going on for who knew how long before Ron came home and pulled her out of it, and then now when she had tried to remember what she had lost from the first time. Was there a potential that this stranger had managed to warp time as well? Or had she just been too distracted trying to focus on the dream that she had just innocently lost herself in it? After all, did anyone really know how long their dreams were when they were occurring?

Hermione chewed her lip. And what did the wizard want? And Merlin’s sake, why had he taken an interest in her anyway?

She went back to the bookshelf near her desk and pulled out a slim volume. It was an empty journal; one of dozens that she had received as gifts over the years from anyone, from Ron to the young Potter children. She turned to a page in the middle third of the book and began to make a list of things she could recall from her encounter:

_1\. He wears a glamor to hide his face and upper torso._

_2\. His voice is distorted but there was a definitive European accent that spoke English either fluently or just about._

_3\. Has an issue with Voldemort’s name. Death Eater? Former Death Eater?_

Hermione looked over her list and considered adding more to it before she changed her mind. For now, these were the three things she was absolutely certain about. More could be added to her list later, if the wizard decided to try and broach her mind again. She closed the journal and set her quill down before pushing the volume back into the line of other empty journals so that it appeared as undisturbed as it had before she removed it initially.

She went back to her bookcase and pulled out another book. Codnor’s _Codex of Occlumency_ was a good place to start until Harry got back to her about lessons, or at least a recommendation to where she could go to learn. She settled herself back on the sofa and opened the book and started to read. She kept herself focused and was prepared to knowingly lose track of time all over again, this time until Ron or Harry came home to see what they could do about this invader to Hermione’s dreams.


	4. A Family Emergency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck at quick updates, I'm sorry! D: Good news is, new job means my night owl self will be back to being able to do something about the late night inspiration bug I always get ;) Hopefully more soon, thank you for being patient!

Later that evening, Hermione received a visitor from the Floo just as she was sitting down to her small, dull dinner of tea and a chicken salad. Ginny stepped out and shook off her cloak in the grate before inviting herself further into the apartment which she had a standing invitation to do. Hermione half-stood to greet her but was waved down as Ginny sat across the table.

“I’m sorry for just dropping in, but I was on my way back from Diagon Alley and I thought to see how you were after yesterday.” Ginny said by way of greeting. Hermione summoned an empty cup to the table and gestured for Ginny to begin to prepare her own tea. Truth be told, Hermione was glad for her company after the shock from earlier that afternoon. She had been mulling over her three factual statements since she’d written them down.

“It’s all right. Molly has the kids?” Ginny nodded to Hermione’s question, so she continued. “Are the boys staying out? Ron didn’t send a note.”

“I assume so. They must be elbow-deep into it because Harry didn’t send me one either. Are you all right? You seem…off somehow…” Ginny’s voice trailed away as she studied Hermione’s face. She had been watching her brunette friend for a few moments and noticed she wasn’t acting quite herself. Hermione nodded, and then let out a sigh.

“I think so. I just had a very strange dream last night and I asked Harry by owl a few hours ago if he wouldn’t mind teaching me occlumency.”

“Occlumency! Why?”

Hermione looked at Ginny’s surprised face and wondered how much she should say. After all, right now she didn’t _know_ anything, and she didn’t want to go around making formless accusations either. Debating quickly, Hermione provided a shrug and a half-truth.

“I just thought it would be interesting to learn. And maybe it might look nice on my resume, for the next time I’m due a promotion.”

Ginny’s expression made it clear that she didn’t entirely believe that admission, but she trusted Hermione implicitly.

“If that’s what you want to tell me, all right then.” Ginny replied and Hermione nodded once in acceptance before they started to navigate away from that portion of their conversation by way of Hermione’s next question as a distraction.

“Why were you on Diagon Alley?”

“Oh, I just went Madam Malkin’s to get a new set of robes. My last decent set went and got a hole in them! Bloody things won’t stand to be mended, no matter how much I’ve tried.” Ginny looked vexed at the idea and implied that the fabric did it on purpose. Hermione smiled as she listened to Giny go on about the robe shop and how she’d also gotten her children a set as well because they were growing so quickly and there was only so much transfiguration and charmwork that could be done with growing boys.

Hermione relaxed as Ginny stayed longer and almost forgot about her worries. It wasn’t until Hermione was walking her back to the Floo that Ginny stopped and put a hand on Hermione’s arm that she was forced to recall the earlier unpleasantness.

“I’ll see what Harry says.”

“About…?”

“The occlumency. It sounds important, especially if you won’t tell me about it, so I’ll make him come round and you can discuss it and arrange a time for him to teach you.” Ginny took a handful of Floo powder and stepped into the fireplace.

“Gin, thank you, but you really don’t have to. Harry doesn’t have much spare time anyway, and I would hate to take him away from your family time.” And that was the truth. Hermione could see both of her dear friends looking unhappy when they went long periods without one another.

“It’s all right. We can work something out. You might just have to baby sit a night as a thank you,” Ginny grinned before the redheaded witch leaned over and kissed Hermione’s cheek goodbye. She tossed the powder before announcing her destination as Grimmauld Place and then she disappeared in a swirling mass of emerald flames and red hair before Hermione could protest further.

Hermione shook her head with her hands on her hips before she turned away from the Floo and went to tidy up after her dearest friend’s visit. Speaking to Ginny had calmed her, she realized happily, and with that in mind, Hermione made ready for bed. Before she entered her bedroom, however, she stopped off at her desk and pulled a slip of parchment out and jotted down a quick note to send to Ron. She told him that she was off to bed and to be careful, signing it off with a simple ‘Love, H’ before handing it off to their owl. Hermione watched the elegant bird’s wings stretch as the owl soared high into the sky, and she turned away from the window after latching it to go to bed.

As she slid under the covers after getting ready, Hermione briefly wondered if she would interact with her mysterious stranger again during the night. As a precaution, Hermione had a quill beside her bed and a piece of parchment just in case something happened and she could write it down. She slipped her wand under her pillow and settled in for some sleep. Her eyes closed and she felt the bed dip slightly when Crookshanks jumped up to the end of it. Normally, Ron would have lightly nudged the cat off the bed, but in his absence Hermione was grateful for her pet’s company as she felt the warm ball settle near her feet. Letting out a long breath, Hermione covered a yawn with the bedspread and let herself relax into a restful doze.

\-----

She wasn’t asleep long when she was disturbed by the sound of someone in her living room.

Hermione’s eyes stuttered open and she was disoriented for only a moment before her wand was in hand and she was quietly sliding out of the warm cocoon of sheets and blankets. Crookshanks had leapt off the bed at her initial movement and took shelter underneath the chair in the corner. He didn’t hiss and that only calmed Hermione minutely as he would have if a stranger had broken in. Still, Hermione was on edge as she quietly crept across the carpets to the door. Cracking it marginally, Hermione looked into the next room. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the room, but she saw a figure stepping out of the fireplace cloaked in an aura of emerald flame as the Floo permitted them entry.

Hermione relaxed when she recognized the man, though she felt confused as to why Arthur Weasley was standing in her living room. She cleared her throat and announced her presence before turning on the light switch. Her eyes stung from the brightness, but she battled through the momentary discomfort.

“Hermione! I’m sorry to disturb you, but we need you to get dressed and come into town.” Arthur started and Hermione frowned, seeing the time was just after two in the morning.

“Why? What’s going on?” Hermione rubbed the sleep from her eyes and tried to stifle a yawn. It wasn’t until she lowered her hand that she saw Arthur’s pale complexion and the seriousness on his face that she hadn’t had to see for several years now.

“Harry’s been attacked. He’s in Saint Mungo’s.”

Hermione faltered and swallowed hard. “Is he… Ron?”

“They don’t know, but Ron is with him; Ginny and Molly, too.” Arthur replied and looked as distressed as Hermione was only then beginning to feel.

Hermione nodded and seemed to regain some of her senses. “I’ll be just a moment.”

She turned without waiting for Arthur’s nod of recognition before turning to go back into the bedroom to change. 

\-----

Hermione had of course been to St Mungo’s before; the first time had been to visit Mr. Weasley during her fifth year after that horrible nightmare that Harry had had. Now, the situation was quite reversed and Hermione didn’t like the parallels between the two situations. She walked down the corridor that was illuminated with false lights to resemble a Muggle hospital, but unlike the non-magical counterpart, these lights would never flicker or burn out. Arthur was just a few steps ahead of her, leading the way to Harry’s room in a secured ward for Aurors or their suspects.

In an effort to make her rising anxiety more tolerable, Hermione focused on the minutiae details of what she could to distract her sleep-deprived overworking mind. The lights were unable to provide adequate distraction because they didn’t flicker and at this late hour there weren’t many people out in the hallways and corridors to occupy her either. She was cold, she discovered as they waited at one of the healer’s stations so that Arthur could confirm the room number for Harry. She hadn’t dressed properly before she’d run out of the apartment; she’d only thrown on a pair of fleece pajama bottoms and a sweater over her nightgown. She was sure her hair was a mess but she didn’t deign her appearance of any consequence; Harry was in trouble. Harry was the only thing that mattered here. She shivered, something she saw herself do, as Arthur turned to face her.

“It’s this way. There’s still no change with him.” Hermione nodded simply and followed Ron’s father down to the designated room. The door was closed, but as soon as Arthur pushed it open Hermione wished he hadn’t. She still couldn’t even see Harry due to a curtain that surrounded the bed, but she could _hear_ , and Hermione’s ears recognized Molly’s nervous titter mixing too harshly with Ginny’s muffled tears.

Hermione saw Ronald second after the curtain. He was standing against the wall, his arms crossed in front of him and he stared blankly ahead at the bed. He did manage a glance over when he saw movement in the doorway, but he only acknowledged Hermione’s presence by inclining his head once in her direction. Hermione wasn’t offended that his eyes didn’t linger too long on her before returning to their friend; she’d have done the same if it was reversed, she thought as she made herself step into the room where she saw Ginny gripping Harry’s hand, while simultaneously crying into her mother’s shoulder. Hermione also saw Bill standing behind his mother’s shoulder. Unlike Ron, he gave a slight pressed smile along with the nod of his head in recognition of Hermione’s presence. Hermione did not smile, nor did she nod to Bill, but she simply stared in his eyes for a moment to greet him before she slowly, slowly turned to look at Harry.

She wasn’t sure in what state she had expected him to be, but the one she found him in wasn’t it. For all intents and purposes, it appeared as though he were sleeping. His glasses had been removed, one arm was folded on top of the blanket over his abdomen, and his other hand was in Ginny’s sure to be vice-like grip. His chest rose and fell in equal measure, each breath seemingly painless, and there appeared to be no mark on his body indicating any reason that he should have alarmed them all and placed him in St. Mungo’s. Hermione half expected him to open his eyes any second and go ‘Ha! I’ve fooled you!’. If it were George, Hermione would have tenfold expected it. As it was, Harry didn’t have that much of a silly bone in his entire body. He would never worry them all like this.

Hermione turned to Arthur whose lips were still pressed in a straight line. She shook her head and whispered, half-afraid to wake Harry and the other half worried about disturbing Ginny.

“I don’t… I don’t understand.”

At the sound of her voice, several things happened at once. Ginny’s sobs increased as she looked up and saw Hermione there; Molly took the moment to grab a tissue. Bill squeezed his sister’s shoulder, as Arthur reached out to take Hermione’s wrist in a light grasp. Hermione took a half step forward to Arthur and Ron also turned to face her as both he and his father escorted her back out the hallway. Everyone else reacted; Harry did not.

Once in the hallway, Arthur cast a silencing charm while Ron glanced around to make sure no one else would see them. Arthur then turned back to the pair of them, but focused on Hermione even as he spoke to his son.

“Ron, tell her what happened.”

Hermione looked away slowly from Arthur’s eyes to those of Ron’s and waited expectantly. Ron looked tired, exhausted perhaps. Hermione hadn’t checked the time before she’d left; she wondered just how late it really was and when the last time Ron would’ve gotten some good sleep in before this happened. She doubted they would be sleeping anytime soon now.

“Harry and I were working on that case...you know the one I told you about.” Hermione nodded as Arthur winced and admonished his son quickly.

“You know those cases--and the facts in them--are to be kept strictly confidential.”

“Yeah, but...c’mon dad, it’s _Hermione_.” Arthur nodded and waved his hand, looking away from the pair of them down the hall as Ron started back on the story. “Anyway, we were at the office reading over the stuff we had collected earlier, and Harry decided he was going to take Jenkins back to the house and I was going to follow up on the inventory of the house. Harry was gone for a long time before Jenkins sends out an alert that he was attacked at the house.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed in concentration as she listened to the story. Jenkins was a young auror and she had only known about him through Ron and Harry’s various stories about work. She’d never met him and she tried to keep her opinion objective. After all, if Harry had taken him along, he would have to be at least fairly competent.

“By the time we got there,” Ron continued, “Harry was out cold on the floor and the room was otherwise untouched. They thought Jenkins did it, but he passed the tests and he didn’t cast any spells that would have done they. They had his wand checked.”

“Did he say what caused Harry to be like...that?” Hermione asked.

Ron shook his head. “He said that by the time they arrived, they saw the little girl that the Muggle had mentioned, but Jenkins had stayed a room behind to make sure they weren’t followed, and by the time he caught up to Harry, it was over and the girl had gone again.”

That was twice the mention of the girl had come up and Hermione wondered more about her.

“Do they know anything about the girl?” Arthur was the one to ask the question Hermione was thinking.

“No, but that’s what I went to check on also. The family did not have a daughter, and none of the previous residents had one that couldn’t otherwise be found. And the rooms and the bodies, and Harry too, all look untouched. You wouldn’t know anything had happened to them if not for the fact they were unresponsive.”

Something occurred to Hermione then. “Are we sure that the Hampshire family isn’t just...cursed? Are they really dead?”

Ron shook his head. “No, they are dead. Whatever cursed and killed them is now after Harry. It takes several days to kill them, we found out. The family in Hampshire just didn’t have anyone check up on them in time, it would seem.”

Hermione swallowed. Several days. They only had an ambiguous amount of time to save Harry. She swore to herself.

“Well, what’s being done? Do they know what the curse is? Do they know how to break it? Is that why Bill is here?” Hermione fired off the questions before either Weasley could speak.

“Bill is here because Ginny asked him to be, for the very same reason you were thinking.” Arthur supplied quietly.

“And the rest?”

“We don’t know what or how strong the curse is. Only that it is supremely powerful dark magic.” Ron replied and she could hear him trying to keep his tone objective. “And, we do not as yet have a cure for it.”

Hermione let out a long breath and she felt the itch to begin to pace. Instead, she folded her hands behind her back, gripping her own fingers tightly as she tried to focus on the facts of the case before them and to find some insight that the others hadn’t.

“He is not in pain, Hermione. That’s important to know.” Arthur said softly and Hermione blinked before looking at him.

“But how can we be sure of that? How do we know he isn’t suffering? He is in a coma!”

Ron’s expression grew even more weary at her words and Hermione shook her head before softening her tone. “I’m sorry Arthur. I just want to help. We have to help him.”

Arthur nodded and rested a hand lightly on her shoulder. “It’s all right, love, I understand. We will solve this, somehow.” He then turned to Ron. “You should get home. You need your rest to be focused here, and the same for you Hermione.”

“I’m not leaving!” They said in unison and Arthur shook his head.

“I understand, but we have to figure this out. And to do that, we need more information, and the pair of you need your rest because we need both of you sharp and focused.”

It took more prodding and some bribery, but Hermione agreed to go back to get her rest, if only to take over once Ron had returned later. They would do it in shifts, they had decided. Hermione sat opposite of Ginny and Molly while watching Harry. Ron was quick to depart with Bill, promising to return in a few hours with some books that Hermione had requested about curse breaking. Pleased that at least his orders were being partially carried out, Arthur came over to relieve Molly and took his seat next to Ginny and held her hand.

Hermione leaned back in her chair as she thought about what could possibly be afflicting her friend, and the thought of her own troubles quickly vanished as the hospital began to come alive as the hours of morning began to arrive.


	5. On The Case

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! The late nights are good for something after all! More to come soon, lovelies! :)

Hermione wasn’t sure when she became aware she was asleep, but once she had realized it she felt startled. This time she was not in the Department of Mysteries, but in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, a venue she knew very well. She knew she was asleep because there was no plausible way given the weak winter sunlight streaming through the window that there would be a complete absence of students or staff alike. She wasn’t cold, like she had perpetually been in the hospital, either. A warmth surrounded her, despite the fact her attire remained the same and there were no obvious fires in the fireplaces that were placed in the hall.

Hermione would have considered it just another especially-vivid dream, if it hadn’t been for the stranger that started towards her once she became fully aware of her surroundings. This time she tried at once to see past the glamour, but as before, it was useless. Where the cloaked figure had used the shadows of the bowels of the Ministry before, he was now using the brightness of the sunshine streaming through the massive windows of the Great Hall. He was a paradox, this stranger, in his love of darkness and light. He stopped in front of the window and Hermione was blinded by the radiance of the pure white light that hid his face.

“You are troubled.” His accented voice stated; Hermione tried to decipher more details from him this time that she could add to her list. “What bothers you?”

“Who are you?” Her tone made it more of a demand than a question. She could _feel_ him smirking at her though she could not see his face.

“A question you should have asked the last time we met.” His tone was haughty, and the glamor slipped enough to allow his true British accent to shine through. “A friend, is all you need know for now, Miss Granger.”

“A friend.” Hermione said skeptically, “my friends don’t keep secrets from me.”

“Don’t they?” He replied evenly and she could feel the smirk again. He took a step closer, his shadow stretching further across the Hall but his face was still hidden by the sunlight. “What troubles you, pet?”

She didn’t care for the nickname, not one bit. It must have shown on her face because he chuckled. Hermione ignored the stirrings of something in her at the sound.

“Harry’s been hurt.” She replied honestly, though she wasn’t quite sure why. For all she knew, this man was the one who’d hurt him for all the secrecy of his identity and the lack of facts of the case.

“Ah.” He said knowingly, but whether that was of the situation or of Harry in general, Hermione couldn’t say. “Badly, I presume?”

Hermione nodded, her throat sticking as the words lodged themselves there and refused to come out. The stranger said nothing to alleviate that tension as he spoke again.

“I hope he recovers in time for you to return to your work.”

Something in her snapped. “Work is hardly important now! He could-- He could be--” She didn’t want to say it, but she forced herself. “He could be _dying_ right now, and there’s nothing I can do to help him!”

“Isn’t there?”

“Say what you mean! I’m tired of these riddles with you.” Hermione lashed out initially, her tone softening into petulance by the end of her exclamation. She was tired; she didn’t have the energy to combat this man mentally since physically was out of the question. A question plagued her. _Who is he?_

The figure seemed disappointed by her response. “You are so-called the brightest witch of your age. Surely you of all people could determine what was wrong with the Potter boy in the matter of an afternoon? Besides, you are needed elsewhere.”

“I’m needed with my friends.”

“And at work, where, unless you’ve forgotten, something is rather amiss.”

“Investigate it yourself then, if you seem to know what is so wrong in the Department. Or tell me simply so that I might when Harry is better or...or when he’s better.” She refused to think of the alternative.

“If I knew, Miss Granger, then I would not have gone to _you_.” He said with irritation in his tone. HIs voice was so familiar, where had she heard it before? He seemed to notice his own glamour slipping; the next time he spoke, the accent was masked again. “Miss Granger, set aside this notion of Potter and focus on your job. Else, I fear you won’t have one.”

“He is my friend, I will not abandon him now, or ever!”

She felt the tension in her foe shift and found herself being walked backwards until her back was against the stone walls of the castle. She could feel the cold of the stones through her sweater, even as the stranger’s warm front was in front of her. He was much taller than she had expected, a few inches above even Ron, but still she did not shrink back, though that was the obvious intended effect.

“Fine, but do not dally on the Potter incident for long. Something is going on in the Ministry, something I cannot fix without an insider’s help. You can do this for me. I will see you well rewarded. I cannot reward you if you do not have a job which is useful to me.”

“I will not spy for you. I don’t even know who you are.” Hermione tried so desperately to peer through the glamour, but only seemed to be met with the blinding brilliance of the light. The harder she tried, the more intense it became. She would not leave here without something, anything to find out this man’s identity.

“I’m asking you to save your career with only a little involvement from myself, can’t you focus on that instead?”

“Save my career, at what cost? Treason?”

“A trifle dramatic, pet.” A hand came up and a gloved finger ran down her cheek. Hermione shuddered despite herself. She felt the aura around him seem delighted at the reaction. “At the cost of doing what’s right. Isn’t that the Gryffindor way?”

“And since you only seek me out like _this_ and not like a normal person, I trust that you are no Gryffindor. Since you have an obvious disdain for them, for us, I would say you’re a Slytherin.”

“Astute deduction, though not entirely without cause. Besides, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs have their own inner-house grievances against your lot, it’s not just mine.”

“I’m sure they do, but you’ve just admitted you attended Hogwarts.” Hermione leaned her head back against the wall and it was her turn to feel delighted. The feeling doubled when she heard her stranger swear.

“I picked well with you, pet. Don’t disappoint me.” He started to take a step back from her and Hermione had an indescribable itch to pull him close again. Merlin, where had _that_ come from?

“Maybe you should worry about not disappointing me.” She replied without thinking and continued before she could stop herself. “But you already have, since you won’t be honest with me.”

“Prove yourself worthy of my honesty, and then I might.”

He said and Hermione wanted to continue the conversation, she found herself intellectually aroused as well as incredibly curious about this man, but she was interrupted as she crashed into wakefulness. She guessed her head had lolled off her shoulder as she came around.

The hospital room was unchanged and so was Harry’s condition. Ginny was dozing with her head on the bed, hand still in Harry’s. Arthur was reading the _Evening Prophet_ that he’d gotten from somewhere. Ron was still absent along with Bill and Molly. Hermione felt a crick in her neck from the awkward position and her mouth was dry. She pushed herself to sit up and readjust her body into a position that was somehow more comfortable just as Harry’s healer, Andersen, came to check on him.

Hermione had to shake herself out of the suddenness of her newest encounter with her phantom. She focused on Harry’s healer to restructure her priorities. Phantom could wait; Harry could not.

Andersen took a look at her as well as the other occupants of the room before he moved over to the bed, careful of Ginny, to run his wand over Harry to check his vitals. Hermione waited for his examination to conclude before getting up to follow him out into the hallway. He looked unsurprised when he turned around to see her following him as he made notes in Harry’s chart.

“Yes, Miss Granger?” He asked and Hermione was reminded of a bear by looking at him. He was bulky and tall with a brown-bear’s fur coloring his head. He moved with a grace that she thought such a large person couldn’t possess however, proven by how he had quickly navigated through the Weasley-obstacle course to Harry’s bedside.

“How is he really? You don’t have to sugar-coat it.”

He gave her a level look before he shook his head slightly, as if making a decision in his mind about something. “The curse is held stationary at the moment, if only because of how quickly he was brought in. It won’t recede in its current form, but nor will it advance.”

“So it’s frozen so to speak?”

“For now, yes. We’ve given him several potions and he’s not getting worse.”

“But he’s not getting better either.” Hermione replied more to herself but he nodded anyway. “Is there a chance that the curse will...become active again?”

Andersen let out a breath. “It’s hard to tell. If we were to stop the potions, I almost guarantee it. But at the same time, we’ve not seen a curse like this. It’s markless. And almost all dark magic is sure to leave a mark of _some_ nature, though we have yet to find one on him.”

Hermione mulled that over as Andersen excused himself to see to his other patients. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes as she rested her head against the plaster. The crick in her neck was down to a small ache and her back wasn’t liking how she’d slept in the chair, either. Small discomforts. She didn’t open her eyes again until she heard a small clearing of a throat that she recognized.

“Kingsley.” She smiled slightly at him before it slipped into a more honest grimace.

“Hermione. How is he?” Kingsley nodded to the closed door. Hermione figured he already knew the specifics; he was the Minister after all.

“Inter vivos.” Hermione replied dryly and felt gross. She needed a shower, preferably a cold one, and a change of clothes. Not to mention a good hair brush and toothpaste.

“Between the living…” Kingsley nodded and he looked tired as well. Hermione wondered when he had found out, if he had slept afterwards. “Well, I trust that Miss Weasley and her family have it in hand here?”

Hermione nodded slowly. “She won’t leave his side, and they won’t leave hers.”

Kingsley nodded, appearing as though he had expected that. “Well, I understand he is your friend, but you and Mr. Weasley have a knack for getting yourselves out of trouble as well as into it. If I may…”

He offered his arm and Hermione politely refused it but did start to walk alongside him as they moved away from Harry’s door. Kingsley kept his stride small for her benefit, she knew. They moved towards one of the healer stations that met at the junction of hallways, though the station was absent save a lone witch who was reading through a report.

“I suppose you won’t be going to work today either?”

“How did you--” At Kingsley’s raised eyebrow Hermione went quiet.

“It’s just as well if you don’t go in. I could use your eyes looking into the house where all of this transpired, if I may?” He asked and Hermione nodded, but then frowned.

“I’m not an Auror though. Won’t I just be in the way of another investigator?”

Kingsley shook his head. “Sometimes a consultant if you like is used. Especially in cases where everyone is just a little too close to the situation. I do have a team on the case, but perhaps you can see something they haven’t? Besides, I will have it arranged so that you and the two I have in charge of the case can exchange notes. If they find something, you will have it, and if you find something--”

“Then they’ll have it.”

“Yes, exactly so.”

They were quiet a moment, lost in their own thoughts, until the Minister broke it.

“I can have it arranged so that Williamson meets you at the house. Here is the address.” Kingsley supplied a piece of parchment with a Hampshire address on it. Hermione pocketed it.

“I’ll tell Arthur where I’m going and then I’ll be off right away.” Hermione turned on her heel to go back down the corridor when Kingsley’s voice called out to her. She was familiar enough with him to detect the faint trace of amusement in his words.

“Perhaps you go home first?”

“Why? ...Oh.” Hermione felt her cheeks redden slightly. “Yes of course.”

“I’ll tell Williamson to meet you in an hour and a half if that is satisfactory?” Kingsley replied with a smile and Hermione hummed her agreement as she continued walking back to the private room, embarrassment following her as she did so.

\-----

By the time Hermione arrived back at the flat, she was short on time for meeting the auror. She only had forty-five minutes to shower, change, grab some breakfast, and make herself otherwise presentable before having to apparate to the house. She had been delayed by speaking with Arthur, and then spent a good amount of time reassuring Ginny once she’d woken up at the sound of her father’s voice. Hermione found the apartment empty which she considered odd because Ron was still supposed to be there if he wasn’t at the hospital.

Shrugging, Hermione set about a quick shower. As she had her eyes closed to shampoo her hair, she only just remembered the dream she had had while asleep that morning and thought about her most recent encounter with the man she was temporarily--at least till she had a name for him--calling the Phantom. He entered her mind when she was asleep, the most vulnerable, and was a shadow even there. She thought the name appropriate. She finished her shower and wrapped herself in a robe while moving out of the bathroom to set the kitchen to work on making her a quick breakfast of toast and eggs with some juice. While it was cooking, she went to grab the slim journal that she had written in the day before and flipped to the page with her small list.

Hermione picked up the quill and then hesitated. What could she certainly confirm about the man now? She added:

_4\. Attended Hogwarts in Slytherin House._

_5\. Is not a Ministry employee, or does not have the implicit trust of a Ministry employee, hence why he came to me._

She tried desperately to think of a sixth thing, but somehow ‘is very attractive’ kept coming to mind and she refused to put that thought into physical form. Besides, she’d never even met the man, not really, how could she possibly know he was attractive? His voice, which was disguised, and his form, forever cloaked, prevented her from getting a real insight into the Phantom. Hermione shook her head and put the journal back into the place that she had left it. Quickly, she jotted out a note to Alphard that she would be absent again, leaving the excuse vague because she wasn’t sure if Kingsley had said something to him or not, and not to mention the Phantom’s warning. Also, she really didn’t care too much what Alphard had to think about her sudden lack in punctuality anyway.

Hermione turned back to the kitchen and a pile of scrambled eggs and fresh, lightly toasted bread were waiting on her next to a carafe of orange juice. She sometimes amazed herself with her own wand-work, she thought pleasantly as she sat down and began to wonder just who her Phantom could be.

There were loads of Slytherin men in the world, too many if you asked Harry or Ron. The Phantom spoke with an educated heirs and a vocabulary that was a bit above her peers, and there was an underlying sensuousness to the way he had commanded the word ‘pet’ as if he saved it for only certain illicit intentions. Hermione blushed as she thought of that and cleared her throat, though she had no one to answer to her except her own thoughts. She must have been truly out of it to find him attractive in the midst of a hospital and in a dream.

But why her? And what was so wrong at the Ministry that he couldn’t launch an inquiry himself? Perhaps he didn’t trust Aurors, or they didn’t trust him. Then he could have written the Minister, or another higher ranking official; he didn’t need to go to the Department Head’s of Magical Law Enforcement’s office and find an employee of hers. Perhaps it was Hermione’s own reputation as one of the Trio that had drawn him to her? But if he was a Death Eater, or a former one, would that not repel him from her?

 _Darkness and light_ , Hermione thought as she recalled the contrast between the Department of Mysteries and the incandescence of Hogwarts, as well as the other contradictions the Phantom brought with him. If she ever did figure out who this wretched man was, she’d punch him in the nose for distracting her with unnecessary things while Harry was in trouble. Then she just might kiss him if he had rewarded her as he claimed for all of her trouble.

Hermione was quick to finish off her breakfast and all-but ran to the bedroom to change her clothes. She just stepped out into the hallway to apparate when she heard her owl return. Debating a moment to read the post or just go, Hermione decided on the latter and with a twist and slight wave of her wand, she was off to Hampshire.

\------

Williamson waited by the gate to the small detached house and appeared, by all Muggle appearances, that he was smoking a cigarette and loitering. However, Hermione recognized the fact he was waiting on her by the way his eyes kept a constant vigilant look out and the fact that the street was entirely empty. She already knew she was expected, but the sight of the auror only hastened her along to join him.

The auror stood a little straighter when he recognized her, a half second slower than she would have thought for a man of his profession, and he moved to open the gate for her.

“Hello.” She said by way of greeting because it seemed odd not to. However, she didn’t want to be too friendly in case he thought she was a dolt, nor did she want to be rude in case he thought her very presence was unnecessary and that she would be seen as second-guessing his work.

“Good morning, Miss.” He said and gestured for her to go through the gate and under the ivy-covered trellis that crept down and covered the fence surrounding the front garden of the property. A man or woman of average height could look over the fence, she thought as she walked toward the gate. There was also a clear line of sight from the sidewalk into the living room of the house. So far the Muggle’s story was checking out.

Hermione went in through the gate and the change in aura was instant. Williamson noticed and commented on it.

“We have a charm that protects the rest of the street, and the Muggles so they don’t feel it. Otherwise it’d seep out and around the area and the whole place would feel like this after a while.” He shrugged as Hermione nodded.

“And because it’s essentially in a bubble, it intensifies here. Because it can’t spread and dilute, right?” She looked at Williamson for clarification and he nodded but did not otherwise speak except to give her a warning of being careful because they weren’t sure what had caused Harry’s condition yet.

Hermione was quiet as she moved forward to the front door of the deceptively innocent looking house and slowly lifted her hand to rest on the door knob. The metal was cold under her hand but nothing otherwise sinister was felt as she turned the knob and opened the door. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but other than the ominous feeling, there were no other foul smells or sights. She supposed the aurors would have cleaned that up already, if nothing else.

She stepped inside and looked at the welcoming hallway that had probably once been very inviting and welcoming. On a sunny day, daylight would have come in through the windows by the front door and the two over the stairs brightening up the place. She looked down the hallway that ran parallel to the stairs and saw that a few photos were now hanging lopsided or at an angle along the path where once they would have been upright.

Two rooms opened off the hallway, one to a living room, and Hermione supposed the middle room would be the dining room. The hallway terminated into the kitchen, where she could look straight out and see the door that would lead out to a back garden. From the size of the house, Hermione guessed there were probably two or three bedrooms upstairs. Where once there was light, now there was gloomy dullness that she wasn’t sure the curse had affected or just the overcast and rainy day outside. The entire house was covered in a grayish gloom that wouldn’t be lessened, no matter what cheerful thought one tried to have. Hermione could feel herself focusing on more and more negative things as she swallowed stiffly, and took the few more steps required to enter into the living room.

From what she had been told, _this_ was the room that the family had died in. _This_ was the room that Harry had been attacked in. Hermione swallowed hard and looked it over.

An overly plush striped sofa was pushed back against the wall, the deep trails in the carpet suggested it had been done suddenly and with force. Anything that had been on the walls--pictures, portraits, a few children’s drawings, and some knick-knacks from some sort of decorating shop--were either shattered, ripped, hanging at an angle, or lying in ruin on the floor; one of the children’s drawings was singed black, only a corner left exposed with melted colored wax giving it any sort of identity at all. An armchair was shredded, it’s stuffing hanging out. The end tables that had marked the edges of the sofa and the chair were destroyed, one shattered and the other upended and missing a leg. There had been two large oak bookshelves in the corner of the room opposite the large window that showed the front garden; all the books were cast out on the floor, pages ripped out or damaged in the books, none had gone unmolested. Glass littered the carpet as well, Hermione noticed as she was careful of where she stepped since the _crunch_ underfoot was recurring. There was a smell now, she could tell, one that hadn’t been out in the hallway. It was one that reeked of brine, like a sea-cave that was more submerged than wasn’t, and a dampness that accompanied it; she was almost sure if she tasted her lips that they would be covered in salt and half expected a portal to open and carry her out to sea. That didn’t make any sense; they weren’t near the coast at all.

Accompanying all of this was that negative feeling with the thoughts that grew more restless as she stood looking about. _Why am I here when I should be with Harry? Why doesn’t Kingsley let someone else investigate this? Did the family suffer when they were attacked? What about Harry? What did the Phantom mean? What’s going on at the Ministry? Who is he? Why wasn’t Ron at home? Has he been out all night? Why didn’t he go home? Has something happened to him? Was he with someone else?_ Once her thoughts turned to Ron, it was like a wildfire spreading throughout her. One question couldn’t be asked without another starting over it. The other thoughts only touched at her mind as well; one question over and over besides those about Ron, who was he? Who was the Phantom?

“Miss?”

Hermione blinked and the brine and the mustiness and the voices quieted. She looked at Williamson and he was watching her carefully. She almost didn’t blame him.

“Yes?” She made herself speak, made herself climb out of that mire of thoughts that suddenly overwhelmed her.

“I was just wondering if you had seen anything of note, Miss. Or, by chance, had you seen the girl?” Williamson said after a moment of silent deliberation to himself.

“No I haven’t. I’m not sure what I would do if I had.” Hermione said and looked at the books littering the floor. “Has anything changed in her between the time the Aurors came the first time, and after Harry’s attack?”

“To my knowledge? I believe some of the books were in the shelf rather than on the floor. But the furniture was otherwise where it is now. Maybe a few of the frames were left on the walls.”

“And that smell?”

Williamson tilted his head and inhaled before he frowned. “That was not here before. It’s going a little now, can’t you tell?”

“That or we are getting used to it.” Hermione said but agreed with him silently. The brine wasn’t as strong as it had been before. She used the tip of her shoe to turn over some of the books to see what had been left and what had been ruined; needless to say there were more of the latter than the former.

Williamson looked out the window as Hermione saw various Muggle and magic books alike. She even saw a volume containing the Deathly Hallows tale. Pushing those memories, firmly aside, Hermione made her way across the room towards the shelves and let her eyes roam over the remnants of the books. She reached the wall and the broken bookshelf before turning to come back. She neared the center of the room when she saw it. A dark navy binding, likely that of leather or something akin to it, and unlike the other books, almost all of the pages were intact and covered in runes, ones that Hermione had never seen before. Instantly, she recognized it as a clue.

“What is it?” Williamson asked as she knelt in front of the book and studied it to see if she could recognize anything of the rune pattern from her previous studies. When that failed her, she frowned. There wasn’t much about ancient runes that Hermione hadn’t learned at Hogwarts which made this very old indeed.

“I’m not sure. A clue, I think.” She replied and reached out for the book before thinking better of it and drew her hand back. She chewed her lip and debated about how to pick up the book without actually having to touch it.

Williamson seemed to sense her predicament about the book. “I can have one of the lads from the Department of Mysteries come over to see if they can’t get it back to the Ministry if you think it’s important?”

Hermione debated the idea quickly in her mind. She didn’t really want to involve someone else if she didn’t have to, especially if it might compromise the evidence. On the other hand, she wasn’t entirely sure how to get it out of her without actually touching it. She wasn’t even sure that if she had on gloves or wrapped the book in a sweater if that would transfer any potential curse or whatever was affecting Harry to her. It would be safer, she reasoned and that was the point that made up her mind.

“An Unspeakable?”

“Yes, or someone they might suggest. Shall I call for one?” Williamson already had withdrawn his wand from his robes and Hermione nodded, standing up.

Williamson excused himself for a moment to go outside and summon someone while Hermione looked around the room. As soon as the auror had stepped out, the briny smell had returned and this time it was more overwhelming than the first. Hermione swallowed past the saltiness and took a few steps to the side of the book and sensed that the smell was less-so than where she was before, solidifying her thinking that the book was somehow connected to the events of what was going on.

It was only a few moments later that Hermione heard a soft ‘ _pop_ ’ outside and Williamson’s voice in a greeting, though from what she could hear of his muffled tone, he didn’t sound especially pleased at whoever the Unspeakables had sent. Hermione had moved toward the edge of the room to get away from the smell--and the voices that were making her question Ron’s fidelity again--and looked down the hallway to the back garden and waited for the auror and their newfound companion to arrive.

She saw Williamson come to the back door and open it; the light brightening the hallway only just marginally before his shadow overwhelmed it. The light breeze that came through the open door suggested rain would be immediately inbound, if not already doing so, and Hermione found herself suddenly greedy for fresh air. She thought she would not be able to get out of this house fast enough, so unsettled she felt. That was at least until she saw who the Department of Mysteries had sent, and that feeling expanded tenfold.

Hermione felt herself feel very surprised at the sight of one slightly-disheveled blond head coming in through the back door behind Williamson. His expression was unreadable as he turned to close the door behind him, likely because he had not seen her yet, and that was confirmed once he turned around and saw her standing at the edge of the hallway. His expression was blank for a moment before his lips twitched up into that old-familiar smirk, though with less bite in it now.

“Granger,” Draco Malfoy said by way of greeting and Hermione did not speak as he approached her. “I hear we have a book that you don’t want to touch. I must confess, that is a first for me.”

If she hadn’t been so surprised, she might have returned with a witty quip of her own, but as it was she simply stepped aside and let Malfoy enter the room ahead of her. She looked at Williamson who shrugged and she decided to keep her thoughts to herself as she waited to see how this would pan out, all the while hoping that whatever clue this book brought them could help Harry and soon.


	6. In Search of A Clue

It was with great reluctance that Hermione had returned to work after leaving Hampshire. She had not wanted to leave Draco Malfoy alone with the book, too curious to see what he would end up doing to it never mind how he was going to transport it anywhere. He had stepped foot into the room and had immediately agreed with her that dark magic was afoot in the pages of the text. He said that he couldn’t immediately say what sort, but that she had been right to call for his help. Hermione had been pleasantly surprised at the lack of arrogance that came from her former schoolmate.

It wasn’t just him, Hermione decided, that she didn’t want left alone with the book. _Any_ one that wasn’t herself she didn’t want to be alone with it. She wanted to be the one to uncover its secrets, the one to find the clue that solved everything, not just Harry’s coma but also the murders and the secret of the disappearing girl. It was a desire that flowed through her blood, her fingers itched at the thought of just reaching out to touch the book and read it, never mind the fact she couldn’t read the runes that had been imprinted on it. She could taste the hidden words on her lips almost as much as she had been able to taste the salt from the non-existent sea that had lurked in the living room.

She had felt more than just a little disappointed that Draco had firmly but politely insisted she go somewhere else while he, in his words, ran some tests on the book. Hermione could only imagine what those tests would constitute, and she had more than half a mind to go down to the ninth level and camp herself outside the revolving doors of the Department of Mysteries and wait for Draco Bloody Malfoy to come out and address her himself. Realising that would look a little strange, Hermione settled for the next best thing: going back to work.

Hermione had practically forced Draco at wand-point to send her an interdepartmental memo once he had found something because she had promised him that she would be waiting upstairs for him to finish his tests. He had agreed, but Hermione could see his grey eyes dancing with some private amusement, guaranteed to be at her expense, and she could see his lips fighting a smirk. Hermione had decided against returning to Saint Mungo’s because if she did, then she would not be able to receive the memo and she didn’t want the delay of having to Floo in and out, or receive an owl, at the hospital. Besides, it would be less noticeable if she were already at the Ministry rather than having to make excuses to the Weasley’s about why she was suddenly ducking out.

The look on her colleague’s faces, however, had almost been enough to cause her to change her mind and turn right around and park herself in the basement. Alphard had been in his new office when she had arrived, but Modoc and the others had looked surprised at her sudden arrival. She supposed, thinking about it, that it did look a little odd and she was hardly in the best state coming into work three quarters of a shift late, her hair had gotten frizzy from the humidity outside with the threatening rain, not to mention several hasty apparatings from Hampshire to outside the Ministry, to the lifts to go inside the Ministry, to the rushed lift back up to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to rumple the rest of her clothes and nerves. Besides all of that, she was sure the rumor about Harry being absent or possibly even his condition had made its way around the hallways of the Ministry and she was one of his best friends. Or perhaps it was neither her or appearance or status of the Golden Trio, but her own attendance had never been so remiss before. Maybe it was a combination of all three. Either way, Alphard took great delight in coming out of his office to ‘welcome’ her.

“Miss Granger, I hope your attendance will improve. It isn’t like you to be so absent or lacking in your presence here.” He said in what she thought was an attempt at a professional admonishing tone but only came across as snide and pretentious. Never mind the fact that it was against some of the rules to speak about her work performance in front of the others, even if everyone knew she was the best worker in the department.

Modoc looked as if he wanted to say something but Hermione shook her head very slightly at him, too distracted by the recent events in her life to be much irritated by whatever Alphard had to say.

“I’m sorry for being late.” She said simply and went to her desk where she promptly ignored Alphard staring after her. She quickly jotted down a note to send to Arthur about being ‘on to something’ and that she would come around later after work. She set it on the corner of her desk and reached for a folder of the last thing she had been working on only several days ago and stared at the parchment in front of her. Had it really only been a handful of days since she had so-intently been working on equal rights for the centaurs and giants?

“Anything to send?” Apolline asked softly from the doorway of Hermione’s office. She lifted a stack of her own memos to go out and Hermione creased the one she intended for Arthur and sealed it before handing it over.

“Thank you.” Hermione said kindly and received a soft smile in return before Apolline leaned in closer.

“Are you all right? We’ve been worried about you.” She whispered, looking over her shoulder as if she were afraid Alphard or someone else would overhear. Apolline looked back to Hermione and she could see the worry in her eyes for Hermione’s own welfare. It was sweet.

“I’m fine, just a lot going on right now, unfortunately.” Hermione replied, and it wasn’t quite a lie. She told herself that mentally, wishing she could have someone to confide in. Ron, perhaps? At the thought of his name, something inside of her twisted and all of those questions that were asked in the Hampshire living room returned to the surface. Where _had_ Ron been?

Apolline mercifully nodded and took a step back, not wanting to pry. “Well, I’m glad you’re back. Let me know if you need anything. Do you want me to bring you back a tea?”

Hermione shook her head and thought she sounded distant to even her own ears when she replied “no thanks” to Apolline’s nice request.

Hermione turned back to her desk and tried to clear her thoughts enough to focus on work for a few hours. She wanted to be able to be productive in some way, if not immediately with Harry, than with her own actual work. Unfortunately, she found herself tapping her quill against the parchment rather than writing on it for the most part.

Sighing, she rested her head against the desk and closed her eyes to try and sort her thoughts out.

Harry was the first thing that came to her mind. She wondered about his condition, if it had improved or worsened since she had been gone. She hoped that it was the former, but somehow she knew it hadn’t. She clung to the hope that whatever Andersen had done, it was holding and that the coma was still content to be in its resting state. She really hoped she would have good news to take with her to the hospital.

Ron was the second thing that barged into her thoughts. Where was he? Where had he been? Was there any reason to question him about their relationship, never mind with anything else? He had never once given her reason to believe that he would stray from her. She had never felt the inclination to be unfaithful to Ron, either. Why had she been almost certain, then, that something was going on? Did he really work late with Harry, or was he seeing another witch when Hermione had so faithfully taken him at his word? Harry would have said something, surely? Ginny, even. They would have told her; she would have known her own fiancee. Wouldn’t she?

Hermione chewed her lip and opened her eyes, looking at the underside of her desk. Where were these thoughts coming from? She was certain it was connected to that house. She had never once doubted Ron before that, but now she thought it was still nonsense, but the box had been opened and she was now Pandora. What didn’t she know? Was it nothing, or could it indeed be something? Were these secrets she hadn’t asked herself, had she always thought something was wrong and whatever in that house was only now bringing it to the surface?

The longer she thought about the house, the more her fingers yearned for the book to be back close to her and the sound of the sea began to invade her senses. She wanted that book. Needed to have it. Hermione didn’t realize she was halfway out of her chair until Abel raised an eyebrow as he came to knock on her door.

“Leaving already?”

“N-no. Sorry, it’s just been an off-few days.” Hermione replied and gripped the arms of her chair to ground her in the moment. She really was losing track of all sorts of things these days, most importantly time and her thoughts.

“I just wanted to say that I’d heard Harry was in hospital. I hope it’s not serious?” He asked and Hermione swallowed. Voicing her concerns about Harry suddenly left her with a lump in her throat. She didn’t want to let anyone know just how serious it was, at least not someone that wasn’t in their circle who just knew how everything worked.

“He is. I’ll pass along your concerns.” Hermione replied, forcing the words out and ignoring the stinging in her eyes.

Abel nodded and gave her a half-smile. “Please do. And let me know if I can help with anything,” he gestured to her desk.

“Actually, there is…” Hermione bit her lip and saw his look of surprise. She _never_ gave up her workload, never. Not even if she had the flu. Abel knew that but he covered his surprise quickly and simply asked what she needed.

Hermione spent the next few minutes explaining what she would need him to do in terms of the centaurs and giants and a few other projects she had been working on. She had apologized profusely and told him that he didn’t need to take on her work in addition to his own, but he insisted and Hermione told him to only do what he felt like on hers, not to overshadow his own things with hers. He promised and then Hermione was up and heading to Alphard’s office.

Her boss still looked smug when Hermione knocked on the door. He allowed her in with a nod of his head and Hermione made sure to shut the door behind herself.

“I would like some time off.” She said without waiting for him to ask what she wanted. He looked surprised before schooling his features into something that attempted to be professionally detached.

“Why?”

Hermione bit down her immediate answer of ‘that is none of your business’, and made herself say that she was in need of some personal time and refused to elaborate.

“Miss Granger, Hermione, I realize that you thought you were going to be sitting in this office, but if this is your response to being passed over, we can find another position for you somewhere else. A different department perhaps?” He looked entirely too pleased at the suggestion. Hermione wanted to jinx him into the next year.

“That won’t be necessary. It’s just that I need some personal time at the moment to get things collected and then I would be back all set to work without complaint.” Hermione smiled almost sweetly at him and Alphard watched her with narrowed eyes.

“How long did you think you would need?” He asked.

“A week, or two at the most.” She supplied already knowing that she had the time off to cover it. A muscle in Alphard’s jaw twitched.

“Fine, but anything over a week and we may have to consider looking at alternative options for you, Hermione. There is the rest of the team to consider, after all.”

She nodded and stood up. With Adria, Hermione would have shaken the older woman’s hand if not given her a hug outright, but with Alphard she just simply gave him a curt nod of thanks and turned to leave.

“I hope it works out,” Alphard called behind her as she opened the door. “Whatever it is that you need sorting out.”

“I hope so too,” Hermione replied and then went back to her own office to gather her things so she could get back downstairs and figuratively up Draco Malfoy’s arse about that book.

\---------

As it happened, Hermione practically ran into Draco once she had stepped out of the lift on the ninth floor. 

“I was just coming to see--”

“What’s happened?”

They both spoke at once and Hermione waved her hand as Draco turned on his heel to guide them a little further into the hallway of the Department for privacy. Hermione couldn’t help but notice where they stopped was almost the same exact place that the Phantom had first spoken to her. She almost choked on air at the thought; Draco wasn’t the Phantom, was he? Slytherin, British, could probably work a very skilled glamor, and technically he _had_ been a Death Eater… Hermione stared at him.

“What?” Draco asked, head tilting slightly to the side as his eyes narrowed. “Did you want to hear about the book or not?”

Hermione made herself focus; she could always think about the Phantom later. “Yes, yes please. I’m sorry. It’s been a rough couple of days.”

Draco watched her warily for a moment but he nodded before moving to open a door Hermione had not even noticed in the wall. The door was black, just as the rest of the walls were and she stepped inside what revealed itself to be Draco’s office. It had a small fireplace in the corner with a leather chair opposite the polished desk. It was well organized and tidy, not that Hermione had expected any less from a Malfoy. She wondered if he even had a house elf come clean it regularly, or if the Ministry elves were allowed the pleasure.

“Did you find anything out?” Hermione asked as Draco closed the door and moved around the small quarters to his side of the desk. She remained standing until Draco gestured for her to take a seat. As she did so, Hermione took notice of a moving picture on Draco’s desk. She didn’t get a terribly long look at it, but Draco was definitely in it along with a woman. Curiosity struck her again, but she focused more on the man in front of her.

“Yes, and no.” He started and pulled a piece of parchment from a stack of them on his desk. “It is very dark magic indeed, and very old. The runes are in a form that _I_ cannot make out.” Hermione noted his emphasis on the word ‘I’.

“But you know someone who can?”

“Yes.” He paused.

“Are you going to tell me who?” She asked when the pause grew pregnant and Draco began to look uncomfortable about answering.

“The thing is… The person who could probably decipher all of this is someone you most certainly wouldn’t want to see, nor would you be willing to travel there. And as he cannot come here…”

“It’s your father isn’t it?” Hermione deadpanned and Draco blinked at her. He had enough breeding to not ask how she knew but he seemed to want the answer just the same. “It’s obvious from the way you were behaving. It was either him or Bellatrix Lestrange, and since she’s dead and your father, from my understanding, isn’t usually allowed in the Ministry anyway, nevermind down _here_...”

Draco held up a finger to interrupt her. “He can come to the Ministry, thank you. It’s just as you said, he can’t come down here or in some other sections of the Ministry. The courtrooms, or the Obliviation rooms for example. Anyway…”

Hermione interrupted him. “Anyway, he can’t come down here where he tried to kill my friends and I that one time.”

Draco’s lips thinned but he didn’t speak. He seemed to have the wisdom to allow Hermione to come to the conclusion that she had overstepped, but she felt she had only been a little unkind. Besides, Harry needed her to get their help.

“Sorry.” She said but they both knew she didn’t mean it.

“As I said, you probably wouldn’t want to see him at home, and he doesn’t typically leave the Manor unless it’s to meet Astoria and I for dinner somewhere, or if he needs to speak to the Minister.”

Hermione could only imagine what Lucius Malfoy needed to speak to Kingsley about. Draco was right, though. She didn’t want to ever set foot in that place if she could help it. She shifted her arm and felt her sleeve along her skin above the mark that Bellatrix had made those years ago. It was faded now, but _Mudblood_ was still there as it would forever be.

But Harry needed her to face those fears. Harry needed her to see if there was a way they could save him that lay in that book. And if Lucius could read it, or had a book that could translate it, well, didn’t she owe it to Harry to at least try?

“Is the book safe to travel with?” Hermione asked.

“If given the proper precautions and protections, yes. But I would advise against it. It feeds on negativity and it is very much alive.” Hermione frowned at that and met Draco’s eyes. They were both quiet for a moment.

“Do you have copies then, of the runes? Exact copies from the book that I could take with me?”

“I have some, I can get the rest.” Draco looked surprised. “So you would like to go visit my father?”

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I? Besides,” Hermione swallowed. “I have heard the Malfoy library is quite extensive. I’m sure that can almost make up for the rest of the house.” She tried for lightness on the last part of her sentence, something to make it amusing as if she was just joking around like she and Draco had that kind of relationship.

“The library is one of the nicest rooms indeed.” Draco supplied politely. “I’ll send an owl to my father to expect you, this afternoon I take it?” At her nod, he continued. “Very good then. Give me a few moments here and I will have those copies to take with you and he will be ready when you arrive.”

Draco stood and gestured for Hermione to remain seated while he started for the door to the office.

After the door shut behind him, Hermione looked around the office. Her eyes were drawn back to the photograph on the desk and saw Draco standing with his hands in the pockets of a thick winter pea coat while snow fell around him. He was trying to maintain a serious expression, but the smaller brunette next to him that was tugging on his arm refused to let him stay that way. She had her hair down around her face but Hermione could see a beautiful bright smile as she tugged on Draco’s arm to wrap it around her as she leaned in for a hug. The photograph kept replaying that over and over, with Draco keeping her close and Hermione felt a little bit of the ice that she always seemed to hold in her heart for him melt just a little. The thing about Voldemort and the absolutely vehement Death Eaters were that they could never truly understand _love_. Draco could; that moment forever captured in that frame proved it.

She confessed to not knowing much about Astoria Greengrass, or what Draco was up to these days. She had heard a few rumors, of course, as the wizarding world of Britain was smaller these days sometimes it seemed. From what she had overheard from various sources--such as what Hannah had overheard in the Leaky Cauldron, or what Ginny had been told while travelling for Quidditch, or what Arthur or Ron had discovered at work--was that Draco had paid his penance for becoming involved with the Death Eaters.

Since he had not done anything really that terrible in the overall scheme of things--and as Arthur said, Lucius took the brunt of the blame for Draco’s involvement anyway--the Ministry had allowed him to pay a steep fine, pledge his commitment to the future of Muggleborns and renounce any allegiances to Voldemort or those practices, and he could go free without a prison sentence. He was very lucky indeed; the other remaining Death Eaters were not so fortunate, not even Lucius had managed to squeak his way out of that, Hermione recalled.

She hadn’t known that Draco had taken a position in the Ministry, never mind down in the Mysteries. He must be proving himself valuable, she guessed, because she knew that Kingsley would never let someone untrustworthy down here. Not after the War. She found herself looking back at the photograph again and hoped, really hoped, that Draco had found his peace with Astoria and it did seem that things were working out well for him.

Draco wasn’t the Phantom. She concluded as she thought about it, leaning back in that leather chair and looking into the dying fire in the grate. He might have been a Slytherin who had issues with Death Eaters, was British, and was skilfull enough to hide his appearance, but why would he? He worked in the Ministry in the most secretive department there was. If something was wrong, he could do his own investigation and likely figure it out and get that information to the right people without needing anyone else, least of all Hermione Granger. Did he know who was, though? And how on earth was the Phantom getting into her dreams?

Hermione let her thoughts distract her from her impending arrival at one of the places she didn’t ever want to go again. She had done a good job of half-forgetting about it until Draco returned with a stack of papers bound in twine that he handed over once he had shut the door again.

“All of the runes as promised, and my few preliminary notes on top. My father is expecting you, and you can stay for dinner if you like he said.” Draco seemed cheered by that until he saw the look on her face, so he cleared his throat and remained standing. “I will continue looking at the book from this side of things.”

Hermione nodded and stood up, her fingers running over the edges of the newly transcribed runes.

“What did you mean by the book was alive?” Hermione asked as she prepared herself for travel.

“I’m not sure yet. I don’t believe it’s a Horcrux, but nor do I think it is entirely not-possessed somehow. I have to research it. It’s a fascinating puzzle.” He replied with an undertone of delight and Hermione recognized that in herself.

“I wish I could experience it with you.” She said and felt herself finding that need again, that want. Draco noticed her expression change and he turned back to the firm-but-polite tone he had used earlier when he had told her to go back to work.

“Believe me, I wish you could as well. I think you would find it as interesting as I do. But, I also think perhaps it’s better if you didn’t. I’m not saying that to be a twat, I just really think it’s best if you don’t. You’ve already been exposed to it for long enough in that house…”

Hermione nodded and licked her lips in agreement. She swore she could taste sea-salt. “Hopefully I’ll find something. Thank you for your help, Draco.” Hermione said and offered her hand. She looked as surprised as Draco did when she realized what she’d done, but Draco quickly shook it before releasing it; his hands were warmer than she thought they would be.

“Good luck. And...excuse my father. He doesn’t get out much anymore.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Excuse him for what, exactly?” She had a few ideas and none of them were pleasant.

“He’s never been particularly chatty, but these days, he only has the house elves to talk to on a daily basis besides his correspondence since mother left. And you can imagine those conversations aren’t very long.”

“Are you trying to tell me that your father is going to try and talk my ear off?” Hermione stared at Draco who began to grow slightly sheepish. She recalled him in the elevator that day and he didn’t seem overly conversational then.

“I’m not not saying it.” Draco returned and Hermione rolled her eyes as she started for the door.

“If he tries anything besides being overly talkative, I will hex him, you understand.” Hermione replied, thinking that him wanting a conversation was a lot less dangerous than if he still truly believed in blood-supremacy, something she wasn’t entirely sure he had been reformed on.

“I believe you. Please tell me if you do. I’ll never let him live it down if he isn’t as nice a host to you as he would be to the Minister.” Draco’s voice sounded easier, teasing even, but as Hermione turned back she caught his eye and saw a bit of steely reserve there. He was serious; if Lucius did anything untoward, she fully believed that Draco would punish him for it. _Now there’s a change_ , she thought as she gave Draco a smile small and turned to leave his office.

She headed for the lift to the atrium and shifted the weight of the rune notes in her hand. She hoped Lucius could help; really she did. But she didn’t look forward to going back into that house, and she didn’t want to leave the book unattended for long either. Her worries swirled again, and distracted her until she reached the point of apparation. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and set her destination as Malfoy Manor.

\------

Once she arrived, Hermione had to calm herself down from getting overwhelmed by the memory of standing outside the Manor’s gates. The hedge was high along the path that ran to the iron gate, the embellished ‘M’ waiting like a beacon to remind those just where they were, if the large ostentatiousness behind the gate didn’t already do that. Hermione summoned a patronus and dispatched it to Arthur telling him that she was again investigating something and would be back to St. Mungo’s by dinnertime, a Weasley tradition around six-thirty every night that had carried over to hers and Ron’s daily routine, as well as that of Ginny and Harry.

After she had sent off her message, she made herself walk forward and ignored the ghosts of last time she had made this walk. She wished she’d asked someone to come along with her, Draco even, as the air was chilly around her and the stones under her feet were harder than she thought any other stone would have been. When she reached the gate itself, she could feel the strength of the Wards that Lucius must maintain regularly surrounding the place.

Just like before, the swirls and filigrees that made up the ironwork began to twist when it sensed her presence and the voice from a lifetime ago spoke, “State your purpose!”

It took Hermione a few good swallows to find her voice again.

“I’m here to see Lucius Malfoy. I am expected.”

“Your name?” The gate asked.

Hermione summoned her strength. _For Harry._ “Hermione Granger.”

The gates swung open and Hermione stepped inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would have had the meeting with Lucius in this part, but it was already getting quite long. So the next one our favorite Malfoy man will return with gusto ;) :D


	7. The Library

Hermione wondered what Harry must have seen all those years ago as they had been dragged through the hallways of the Manor to end up here, in the drawing room with its aubergine walls and portraits of nearly a thousand years of pure-blooded Malfoy to watch the proceedings. She remembered Harry’s swollen face when they had arrived and how the only two people besides Narcissa that could recognize them had been surprised to see their arrival. Hermione also remembered that Draco had lied and hadn’t revealed their identities except only under intense duress from his father and his aunt. Draco, how he had changed, Hermione thought and hoped he really had. He seemed happier now than he had been in school and for that, Hermione was grateful. Perhaps they could even be friends one day.

The room was too dark for her tastes as the floor was a deep ash to the point that it was almost black. A beautifully carved marble fireplace was the feature of the room, a chandelier had once been Hermione remembered lying on the very same floor staring up at it as she was _crucio_ ’d by Bellatrix’s hand to the point of tears. Hermione didn’t step very far away from the door she had come in, preferring to wrap her arms around herself and wait by the wall instead of the promised warmth of the fireplace that required moving underneath the new fixture overhead that had replaced the old one. Behind her, she could hear murmurings from the paintings, but they were only interested in what she was doing there, not who she was and they did not give any indication that they recognized her, or her blood-status. Hermione was grateful for that, at least. She wasn’t particularly keen on hearing what a bunch of long-deceased Malfoy’s would have to say about a Muggle-born needing the use of _their_ library.

Hermione felt coldness that clung to the room the few moments she waited, goosebumps spreading along her arms. Stubbornly, she remained cold and didn’t seek out the fireplace. She nearly jumped a foot into the air when the door on the opposite side of the room opened. Instinctively, she lowered her arms from around herself and kept her right thumb tucked into her pocket where her wand was within easy reach. Just because she had been allowed inside the Manor and Lucius had behaved himself for a few moments in a lift did not mean she trusted him. She remembered all too well what he had been like the last time she had been in this very room.

‘ _Well, Draco? Is it? Is it Harry Potter?_ ’ He had once been so excited, lively at the thought of turning them all in for his just reward. Had he changed? _Really_ changed? Hermione guessed she would soon find out just how pure Lucius Malfoy’s intentions could be.

The door opened and the man himself stepped forward into the drawing room; if not for his hair and paleness of skin, Hermione might not have noticed his arrival because he was shrouded in black apart from a white undershirt whose cuffs could be seen underneath the black fabric that coated his arms. He moved further into the room, the shadows losing their power in hiding him, and Hermione saw that he was as well-dressed as he had ever been, though this was certainly the most casual she had ever seen him. Lucius had abandoned his cane, gloves, and oversized robe that she knew he loved to flip as he would turn and leave; foregoing all of that in favor of some well-fitting black trousers and a finely tailored vest over his black silk shirt. He had his traditional cravat on, though, this time the emerald silk was run through with silver streaks that gave it a certain shimmer which only enhanced the fabric. His hair was as lustrous as ever, his skin pale and unblemished as he strode forward, eyes fixated on her, but Hermione didn’t have a chance at reading him. He was too-well guarded for that. 

She noticed that he seemed to have lost some of the arrogance that had once highlighted his strut; Hermione didn’t think the change was unwelcome, the Malfoy’s could do with being a little more human, she thought around the same time she noticed acutely that it was rather off-putting to be the sole focus of his attentions. She had the urge to turn away, divert her eyes from his, and she couldn’t explain why. _Don’t be foolish, keep your eyes on him. Do not show weakness_ , the long-buried survivalist told herself as he came to a stop in the middle of the room.

“Miss Granger.” He said by way of greeting and the very sound of his voice brought Hermione back to the first time she had heard it here, in this room. She did notice that unlike before, his tone was wary, cautious even instead of the nearly-hysterical one he had that day.

“Mr. Malfoy. Your son,” Hermione paused and made herself say his name, “ _Draco_ said you could be of some help for something I’m looking into.” Hermione said instead, decidedly not focusing on the unpleasantness of her memories, but at the same time not moving away from the wall. Not moving to where she had once been tortured on the floor in front of this man. Not moving towards the past visions that sometimes called to her in the darkness. The very tangible presence of this room raised her impatient sense of injustice with those Death Eaters that had been given mercy instead of justice. Lucius Malfoy, for example...

“Yes, though Draco neglected to mention as to what I would be needed for. Perhaps you could enlighten me?” Lucius raised an eyebrow and Hermione’s suspicious brian started to kick in. He seemed cautious, and perhaps a little hopeful? Hermione told herself to stop being ridiculous; you could not be both careful and hopeful. Malfoy would only want to know what was it that sent one of the Golden Trio to his home in the middle of the afternoon with no prior explanation or invitation; especially _her_.

‘ _But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!_ ’

What would Harry say if he knew where she was? Literally, right where she was? Ronald would have a fit; he had never, ever forgiven Bellatrix for what she had done and he never liked looking at the faded mark on Hermione’s arm either. Hermione herself tended to wear long sleeves for just that reason, so Ron or anyone else would not have to see the mark. But Harry? Who had saved them all from the Manor, only to lose Dobby after such a triumph? Hermione wondered what Harry would say about lots of things these days, it seemed. She only hoped she could speak to him again soon to find out.

“Miss Granger?” Lucius spoke again and Hermione blinked, realizing she had never answered him out loud.

“Sorry. It’s just...being in this room again. With you.” Hermione trailed off as her eyes landed on the place on the floor where the old chandelier had fallen, a large divot and scratch left in the wood from the heavy iron crashing down. It had been the same place that she had lain prone on the floor, watching Lucius watch her be tortured. The mark on her arm suddenly seemed itchy and she fought the urge to touch the place on her skin.

“Ah.” Lucius replied quietly, and his expression turned pensive. He also looked at the floor and Hermione couldn’t read into his tone. He didn’t look happy, which she considered a good thing considering the content of the memory, but she didn’t dare presume to know what he was thinking. Hermione saw him straighten up out of the corner of her eye, and when he spoke, his tone had changed back to his almost-normal one though it sounded a little more fatigued. “Forgive me. The library is this way, if you would care to join me?”

He gestured behind himself but Hermione was still reluctant to traverse the room to meet him. He must have noticed--how could he not when her eyes never left that spot on the floor?--and so he crossed slowly towards her side. He was smart enough to go slowly, to make sure she could see him coming. Perhaps he didn’t like the idea of spooking her; or perhaps he didn’t want to test just how quickly she could draw and use her wand if provoked. Either way, he was careful to not try anything as he came to stand just in front of her. 

Hermione looked up only when she saw that she was looking at his waistcoat buttons, which was a rather odd place to be staring at a person, never mind Lucius Malfoy. She looked up and found that he was taller than she’d remembered, and very, very close to her. Her eyes met his and Hermione saw the fully charged intensity of his eyes looking over her face. There was no look of displeasure, no look of disgust, grievance, animosity, or hatred there that she would so easily have believed he would harbor for her, for her friends after everything that had happened. If she were forced to try and place his expression, she would have said that he almost appeared _concerned_. She shook it off, and noticed that a few pesky suggestions of a wrinkle dared announce themselves at the corner of his eyes which were ever so slightly sunken in, the way someone who didn’t sleep much anymore or had lived through a great amount of stress would suffer. She wondered if he had looked like that since Azkaban, or since Voldemort had lived in this house. She really hadn’t seen much of him in those months after the war had ended and wondered if perhaps that was when he had aged.

“We may leave this room whenever you wish. I did not intend for you to come in here at all, but there was a sudden owl I had to reply to, and--” He likely would have kept rambling, had Hermione not surprised him and herself by raising her hand from the pocket which contained her want to lay flat against his chest. Once Hermione realized what she had done, she immediately lowered her hand as Lucius inhaled rather sharply, eyes staring at her even more so than before.

“I’m sorry. It’s quite all right.” She stammered through her apology and lied about the drawing room, finally finding some words instead of staring intently at her temporary host. Lucius had stepped back from her touch, surprise still on his face and Hermione felt the same. She clasped her hands behind her back, the twine-bound pages from the book book poking into her skin. Her purpose was renewed. “Sorry. Yes, the library please.”

Lucius kept watching her, expression unreadable, as he stepped aside and opened the door behind her. He indicated she should go ahead of him, and Hermione was too shaken from having touched the man to think twice about turning her back on him as she left the drawing room. Lucius moved to walk beside her once they entered the hallway, as they were large enough that four or so people could walk side by side and never touch if they wanted to. As Hermione and her host moved down the panelled hallways, Hermione had the silly notion to twirl her hair around her finger, a nervous habit she hadn’t done since she had been in Hogwarts and had tried flirting with Ron. _What are you thinking of? Get a hold of yourself!_ She admonished and instead, she gripped her bound pages tighter.

Once they reached the large entry hall, the floors turned to a marble checkerboard of black and white tiles, leading to the large ash staircase with an emerald runner that led upstairs and further into the recesses of the Malfoy family home. Hermione could only imagine what else the Manor contained. Absently, she wondered if the estate really was this large, or if it had been enchanted to be bigger on the inside.

“So won’t you tell me?” Lucius asked as they began their ascent to the second floor.

“Pardon?” Hermione asked, pulled from her musings at the artwork that adorned the great entrance hall of the Manor. Lucius smiled slightly at her reaction and watched her studying his house.

“You find my home pleasing?”

“The art is… I’ve not seen such quite like it. Not since I was on holiday in Paris and went to--with my--” Hermione stopped herself from continuing; she had been about to tell him about the time her parents took her to the Louvre. Somehow she didn’t think that Lucius Malfoy would be very interested in Muggle painters of the Renaissance or similar periods, or the sorts of holidays she had gone on with her parents. “I’ve just not seen such lovely artwork in a while.”

Hermione didn’t think she would ever be used to his watching her. Slate eyes never left her face; it made her blush.

“Paris has many charms. It has had over the centuries, and will continue to do so, I have no doubt.” Lucius replied. For a brief moment, Hermione thought he might offer her arm. But what a truly idiotic notion that would be. The sleep deprivation and constant tension was starting to get to her. “Shall we continue? I don’t mind the delay if you wish to look around. I could provide a tour, if you’d like?”

Hermione was almost tempted to let him. If he was up to something nefarious, surely she could try and find out? And besides, aside from the bad memories of the war, the Manor truly was a work of art on its own. Everything from the architecture to the marbled floors, columns, fireplaces and more, the painted vaulted ceilings, rich furnishings were a tastefully elegant reminder of what old money could do for a Pure-blood family. She was sure the library would be equally as splendid and that would be worth risking a few hours alone with Draco’s father, if nothing else. But Harry needed her and she didn’t really feel threatened by Lucius, which she thought she would have by now if he was up to something. She needed her translations, and she needed them more than she needed to know if Lucius Malfoy was up to his old tricks.

“Perhaps another time. I’m in a bit of a hurry; this is very important.” Hermione said, allowing herself to sound apologetic about it. Resolved to her cause, Hermione pressed her lips together and met Lucius’ eyes. “It could cost a man his life if I don’t get these runes translated and quickly.”

Lucius’ expression shifted slightly so that Hermione could recognize his look of curiosity before he let the mask return over his features so that he appeared non-committed, almost bored of the afternoon’s proceedings. If Draco hadn’t mentioned how inclined for company Lucius really was, Hermione wouldn’t have ever thought that. Rather, she would have considered herself an inconvenience for bothering him since he looked so bored. Hermione thought she was beginning to understand him a little and found herself relaxing ever so slightly.

“With the translation of runes, particularly ancient ones, you cannot sacrifice accuracy for speed, I’m afraid. However, I will do my best.” He said, something like amusement dancing in his eyes, as he led the way further up the rest of the stairs and Hermione followed along, her eyes on his back as she remembered something else he had said on that horrible day all of those years ago.

‘ _Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv--_ ’ He had been interrupted by Greyback then, and Hermione tried to reconcile that man--the Death Eater--with the one that was leading her down a hallway to a library to find a book that would save Harry Potter’s life. The one that had offered her a tour of his home, the one that seemed curious and if she stretched the facts a little, perhaps interested in helping her? It didn’t make sense; he didn’t make sense.

“Do you read ancient runes, Mr. Malfoy?” Hermione asked his back, then added for clarification, “Draco implied you could.”

“Yes, though it has been some time.” Lucius replied easily. “They were most helpful for my potions in school, and my alchemy interests now. Besides, my father insisted I learn numerous aspects of magic. Some more so than others,” he trailed off and Hermione could guess where he was going with his thoughts, so she let him have them by staying silent. She really didn’t care to know about the inner-workings of a blood supremacist's mind.

Lucius came to a stop at a pair of large oaken double doors that had wrought-iron hinges. He rested his palm on the wood and without Hermione noticing it--though she stiffened once she had--he extracted his wand and waved it over the lock. It was not a simple unlocking spell, but the murmured words seemed to be removing an enchantment of some kind. She heard a lock slide out of place before Lucius took the handle of the door and pulled, doors creaking only slightly as they opened and Hermione almost fainted from the sight in front of her as she took a few steps past Lucius into the Malfoy library.

Her mouth was open, she was sure of it but she didn’t care, as her eyes surveyed the expansive room in front of her. She had expected a stupidly lavishly decorated room with a few shelves of rare volumes, maybe a few bookcases of a collection here or there, and because the Malfoy’s were Slytherin to the core, a motif of snakes, emerald, and silver. In the short of it, she was correct. But Hermione had heard rumors that the Malfoy library was a thing to behold. And Hermione had never fallen in love, truly in love, with a room before. But one look at the library here, and Hermione knew that she would never be satisfied until she begged Lucius to come back here.

Once through the doors, the floor remained marble, though the checkerboard gave way to a light vanilla-colored stone that had a darker brown hue that formed a simple swirling filigree pattern that led to the center of the room, where a statue was erected in pure white marble with a dark-granite base that supported it. The room was mostly oval shaped with two alcoves to interrupt the loop: one for the door that led to the rest of the Manor, and directly opposite was a large desk flanked on both sides by two compact spiral staircases that led to the second floor of the library. Several overly plush chairs and sofas, of course in emerald upholstery, were spread throughout the room with small end tables in matching walnut finish to stand ready next to them. A fireplace burned in the wall near the desk.

Windows adorned the two points of the oval and behind the desk, letting in the sunlight that Hermione had forgotten existed during the time she had spent in the drawing room. She took a few steps further into the library and looked at row after row of dark walnut cases that housed thousands upon thousands of books.

As she looked up, she saw the railing of the second level where the bookcases were not quite as tall, but no less numerous as they remained parallel to their companions on the first level. She couldn’t keep still as she turned to keep looking at the room, finding something new to catch her eye as she fell even more in love with the room. Overhead, there was another painted ceiling, only this one was enchanted to move. The painting depicted a scene from a book that Hermione had long ago read and had cherished since Dumbledore himself had given it to her.

“ _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_.” She whispered, recalling the title of the tale from Beedle the Bard. She watched as the three witches and Muggle knight made their way across the trials toward the Fountain.

“You know our children’s stories?”

The sound of Lucius’ voice sounding amazed brought Hermione to a stop as she spun back around to face him. He had found his cane from somewhere and was leaning on it, both arms folded on top of the serpent’s head and was watching her most amusedly. At least he had been, till she mentioned the name of the story.

“I read them once, a long time ago.” Hermione replied, swallowing, realizing how it must have looked her staring at a library with such astonishment. “Mr. Malfoy, this library is--” She shook her head. “I don’t have the words.”

Lucius seemed pleased by her reaction and stood straighter, taking his cane by one hand and walked further into the library. Hermione looked back to the ceiling and watched as the tale concluded with the witches leaving the fountain happily along with their knight.

“It changes.” Lucius said when he caught her looking at it again as he led her deeper into the library towards the desk which was so clearly his. “It selects a tale at random from the fiction section,” he gestured to several sections on the second floor, “and re-tells it.”

Hermione stopped near the statue as Lucius started off to the side of some of the lower shelves and began to look through some of the titles. Hermione noticed the plaque at the base of the statue was in French but she could tell enough to read the Malfoy family’s crest in Latin ‘ _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper_ ’, and that it was a likeness of Armand Malfoy, whoever he was. Hermione almost wrinkled her nose at the motto and would have, if she hadn’t heard it at school. Blood purity again. Did these Malfoy’s never let it go?

Lucius caught her regarding the statue as he returned carrying a few books.

“My ancestor, the founder of this estate.” He supplied at her silent question. “This way, Miss Granger.” He said again as he led the way over to his desk. She followed, the pages of the mysterious book in front of her. When Lucius deposited his burden on the desk, he turned to face her and that’s when she slowly, reluctantly, handed over the pages.  
She looked at the nearby books and saw rare titles that she had not read before. She found herself taking a few steps closer to the nearest shelf, when Lucius caught her attention straying.

“Curious, aren’t you?” Hermione’s eyes rushed back to him and she looked almost sheepish until she saw that amusement shining in his eyes again. He sighed and acted put-upon, but Hermione recognized it as an act now. “I suppose you might as well have a look around. It will take me a while to try and read these,” he lifted the pages and Hermione almost jumped to hug him. Almost.

“May I?” She asked breathily instead, fingers already itching for several of the spines within reach.

“Go on, but if you damage anything…” he said warningly and Hermione shook her head quickly.

“I wouldn’t dream of it! I swear!” She said and Lucius nodded his permission once, taking his seat near the fireplace at the desk and he began to frown in concentration as he looked over her pages. Hermione watched him for a moment before the curiosity became too great and she turned to the nearest shelf and began to look at the Malfoy collection. A thought occurred to her before she got too carried away and she turned to Lucius again. He seemed to anticipate her movement and looked up again and Hermione was quick to not irritate him.

“I wonder if I might send an owl? This will likely take longer than I thought.” She bit her lip. Whether she meant browsing through his library or having him translate, she wasn’t sure, but the excuse was still the same.

Lucius’ expression cleared of any irritation or amusement from earlier and nodded once, but he was wary again. She could tell that much. He opened a drawer from the desk and took out a quill, some ink, and a piece of parchment before allowing her the use of the blotter pad to write out her note. As she did so, he stood and went closer to the fireplace and summoned an owl which came from overhead, though how the creature got inside Hermione wasn’t quite sure. The beautiful snowy owl came to rest at the mantlepiece of the fireplace near Lucius’ arm and waited, patiently allowing Lucius to stroke the bird’s feathers with a gentle grace. Hermione tore her eyes away from the scene and how intently Lucius was focused on the bird to write Arthur another note.

_I apologize, but I will be late. I’m on a lead. Don’t worry. I’ll see you soon. Love, Mione_

She sealed the letter and carried it over. Lucius extended his hand to take the note and Hermione watched him warily, swallowing hard as she handed it over. He didn’t make any attempt to read her words and simply attached the letter to the owl before he looked back at her to give the instruction of where to send the owl. Hermione met the bird’s eyes and spoke the destination as St. Mungo’s, with the recipient being Arthur Weasley.

Once the owl was gone, Lucius’ expression remained impenetrable.

“Is your Weasel sick?”

She felt a flicker of annoyance, but tramped it down. She’d heard worse from Draco over the years at Hogwarts. “Something like that. Shall we get back to work?”

She knew it was more a case of getting him to refocus on her problem rather than Ron, but she wasn’t going to listen to him speak poorly about her fiance. Besides, if he didn’t already know about Harry, she wasn’t going to be the one that told him.

“As you wish. You may still browse if you like,” Lucius resumed his seat and set to work looking over the pages and Hermione moved back to the bookshelf where she had left off.

She quickly lost track of time browsing through the shelves, making a mental list of which to come back to. Hermione had the list tripled by the end of the second row and chewed her lip, trying to think of a way to ask Lucius to come back or if she might borrow some of the more sturdy copies. As she lost herself in the rows of bookcases, she discovered that he had everything, and mostly were all first editions. Some were so old that she was afraid to even look at them for fear they may turn to dust before her very eyes. She recognized different languages besides English; French and Latin being the two most common, but German, Spanish, Portuguese, Russian, and a few numerous other symbol-based languages had made their way into the mix as well. She thought she could tell that various owners of the library had gone off on tangents when they added books to the collection, as similar works by other authors would be added in multiple languages, or related authors.

By the time she had rounded the last shelf to complete the circle, she had a good guess of how the bottom level was broken up into sections.

Starting at the desk and moving left, there were the research subjects of alchemy, arithmancy--a place that Hermione spent a very long time looking at the titles--numerology, and there was a section on divination, which Hermione was pleased to see was small though she was surprised to see it there at all. Fanning out across the room there were other scholarly topics covered such as charms, transfiguration, herbology, and a good few cases devoted to the history of magic. Potions and the accompanying alchemical texts took up the majority of the bottom level, but Hermione was fascinated with it all. She had not seen every section, but had a good feeling for things she was more interested in than others as she started up the nearest spiral staircase, pausing only to look over the rail at Lucius and see how his progress was coming.

He had summoned some blank parchment of his own and had a few quills set to work taking notes for him as he made his way through the pages and opened a few books. As Hermione climbed the rest of the way up the stairs, she saw him lift his wand and from the depths of the library on the second floor, a few books came floating down to him. She decided she would start looking in that section first.

The fiction section Lucius had mentioned earlier took up most of the second level, spanning the left staircase over the midpoint over the door that led back out to the Manor, and Hermione knew she would lose _years_ if she could in this place. She’d never go back to the Ministry again, happy to be just reading here for days on end. She made her way around the upper balcony and saw an emerald velvet rope cordoning off a section of bookshelves that were lined with glass mesh cases. Curiosity was something Hermione always had issues with, and started over to that section. She was in sight of the desk down below, something she became aware of when she heard Lucius’ voice call out to her and she looked for him down below and saw he was watching her.

“For your own safety, Miss Granger, I might suggest a different section to continue browsing in.”

Hermione glanced back to the glass-covered shelves and remembered in just whose library she was in.

“The Dark Arts, yes?” She looked back at him and Lucius did not incline his head or give any other indication that she was correct apart from his tone from his earlier warning. He was smart not to. If they were, which Hermione guessed they would be, then they would be illegal for anyone to have them. Never mind the former trusted servant to Lord Voldemort and father of a Ministry employee. Draco would be in trouble as well.

He kept watching her, waiting to see what she would do, and Hermione credited him with his ability to look unfazed by any potential problem. She could have him arrested right now if she wanted and they both knew the Ministry would only love to drag him in. Hermione tapped her finger on the polished wooden rail and took a few steps away from the section, his slate eyes watching her the entire time, and Hermione found herself doing something that she never in a thousand lifetimes imagined she would have.

She trusted Lucius Malfoy.

“I haven’t gotten to the runes yet, I’m sure there’s something else I can read there instead of looking in there.” She said, voice falsely innocent of any knowledge of dark magic lurking just meters away. Lucius watched as she entered the section on runes before he lowered his eyes back to his own work.

She only felt a little disappointed at not being able to sate her curiosity in that illicit section, but he had already been kind to her and appeared to be making headway where she had not. Not to mention she did want a return invitation very badly indeed, and if he were to be arrested, well that wouldn’t look good at all.

\----

Hermione was lying on one of the velvet couches on the lower floor of the library, a book of French arithmancy in hand as the ceiling overhead was trying to tease her attention away with a love story from one of the other fiction books. Hermione admired the style, reminiscent of the Great Masters, and more often than not found her attention straying from the words on the page to watch the tale carry out overhead.

She had gone back to her book by the time she felt something sit at the end of her sofa. Hermione lowered the book and found Lucius regarding her again. He had put his hair back with a silver ribbon and he had rested his hands on his legs, waiting for her to take notice of him. She realized how overly comfortable she must look, lying on one of the couches as if she belonged there without a care in the world. She scrambled up quickly and tried to smooth the wrinkles in her clothes and she would have tried the same effort on her hair, but found she couldn’t when he was watching her like that.

“I am afraid I have finished.” He said when he finally had her full attention.

Hermione sat up. “You’re done? All of it? Already?”

“Do you know what you brought me, Miss Granger?”

“Hermione, please.” She said, leaning forward to hear what he would reveal. “No I don’t, that’s why I came to you.”

“H-Hermione, then.” He started and looked somewhat uncomfortable at the invitation to use her name. “You brought me a very old, a very rare dialect of a novice charms-making.”

Hermione blinked, uncomprehending.

“I dare say, in a different language, watered down over the millennia, and you could find a variation of this very same book at Hogwarts.” He shrugged and it was all she could do to feel like a failure.

“So, I just essentially brought you a schoolbook?” At his nod, Hermione groaned and leaned forward, covering her face with her hands, the arithmancy book discarded on the sofa.

Lucius’ tone turned to what she remembered: almost cruel. “Had I imagined a very important Ministry assignment would amount to an exercise in translation of school materials, I imagine I might have turned Draco down.”

Hermione didn’t want to be there any longer. She had wasted his time, wasted her time, and most importantly, wasted time that Harry did not have. She stood up and looked around for the coat she had discarded hours before.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Malfoy. I thought there was more to it than that.” She apologized without looking at him, readying herself to go, making sure she had the pages bound up in twine again. She couldn’t bear the thought of looking at his face, seeing his cruel expression, for thinking her stupid beyond all belief. She didn’t buy into the stock of being the brightest witch of her age, but even if she had, now was hardly the time to fail at living up to that moniker.

“It is possible there might be.” He replied, back to his disinterested tone that Hermione thought was everything but honest. She risked a glance at him.

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head, eyes turning mischievous. “A few questions of my own first, if you please.” He gestured to the sofa and Hermione slowly eased herself back down.

“Tell me what this is all about. Draco said nothing and neither have you.” His eyes were sharp like a wolf’s hungry gaze, only Hermione had no doubts that he would strike if she gave him reason to.

“I can’t tell you everything,” Hermione said, recalling the secrecy of auror’s investigations. “Only because I really don’t know everything. This book was at the scene of two very serious, lethal attacks. It has an...aura about it, when you’re with it, that I can’t describe. I thought it was some sort of clue, but maybe I was wrong.”

Lucius looked in thought for a moment, while studying her face for any trace of deception. _Perhaps he could teach occlumency_ , Hermione thought, recalling that Lucius was one of those rumored to be very talented at legilimency. But he wasn’t exactly the sort of man she wanted poking around in her head.

“It is possible that there could be hidden layers to the text, ones that the copies you brought would not show. Especially if the book is enchanted.” He met her eyes and Hermione found herself transfixed by his own. “Have dinner with me.”

She shook her head, surprised. “What?”

“Have dinner with me. It is late, you must be starving. You haven’t eaten anything since you arrived nearly ten hours ago.” He still didn’t look away from her face. “Have dinner, you can spend the night in one of the empty bedrooms if you like, and we can tackle this anew in the morning. What do you say?”

Hermione looked apprehensively at him. She was surprised that she didn’t just straight turn him down. He looked almost as if he half-expected her to. Did she _really_ want to spend the night alone with Lucius Malfoy in his home? There would be no where she could hide if something happened that he wouldn’t find her in. Not to mention she didn’t have any clothes, toiletries, or anything to refresh herself with. She already looked unpolished enough; she didn’t need a night’s sleep in the same clothes to ruin what extremely low amount of esteem he already had of her.

But at the same time, she would be close at hand for further research. She could also possibly have a look around in the middle of the night while he was sleeping to see if he was up to anything illegal, other than having restricted books. Plus, it was late and she _was_ hungry…

“All right, but I will have to leave in the morning. I had somewhere to be this afternoon that I ended up not being able to do.” She replied and saw surprise in Lucius’ face but he schooled his features to be the perfect host. He rose and this time he did offer her his arm.

“Then let us go to dinner, H-Hermione.” Her name being the only thing that tripped him up from an otherwise perfectly delivered line. She declined his arm with a polite smile but walked side by side with him as they exited the library. With a longing look behind her, Hermione watched as he sealed the doors with another spell, and then together they started down to the dining room where Lucius told Hermione the best dinner she ever had would be waiting on her.

“You have a lot to live up to, if that’s the case Mr. Malfoy.” She replied in a teasing way.

Lucius’s eyes glittered with mirth. “Oh I promise, pet, I will make sure you do not leave unsatisfied.”

Hermione blamed the sudden flush on her cheeks on the quickness of their descent down the stairs and lack of food during the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was totally picturing [the Austrian National Library](https://www.google.com/search?biw=1280&bih=703&tbm=isch&sa=1&q=austrian+national+library&oq=austrian+national+library&gs_l=img.3...0.0.0.9472628.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0..0.0.ulpcrf%2Ccfro%3D1%2Cstargd-cl%3Dweb-for-rerank-with-language%2Ceulp%3D1%2Cerulps%3D1%2Crulpds%3D1...0...1..64.img..0.0.0.imb7xxinx0I) when I wrote this part with only slight modifications.


	8. Dinner and A Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the rating change.

As promised, dinner had been one of the best meals Hermione had ever eaten. The richness of the sauce that accompanied the meats mixed well with the herbs used in the vegetables; Hermione felt truly spoiled indeed. She wasn’t a poor cook by any stretch, but this was above her level even if she tried. Lucius had offered her wine to accompany their beef, but she had turned him down there, sipping on tea instead. She wanted a clear head around him at all times, not one inebriated by what she was sure was an exceptional red as well.

The dining room was no less grand than the rest of the house. A marble floor was absent in place of the same type of floor from the drawing room, long beams of dark wood. The draperies were silver with emerald tassels, the cushions of the chair also in the same green color. A few paintings adorned the room--more Malfoy ancestors, she thought--and a large fireplace was burning on the other side of the table that gave a nice warmth and light to the room. Candles in silver holders were spread throughout the room, some enchanted to float overhead. Hermione felt extremely underdressed.

Lucius himself had seemingly relaxed a little after letting himself indulge in his wine stores. Hermione half-worried that he would get a little too relaxed and start spewing random supremacist comments the way her uncle would at Christmastime when she was a child, before she knew she was a witch. She remained slightly tense, waiting for him to say something, anything to give her a reason to leave but none came. He was a brilliant conversationalist when he wanted to be, and it seemed over that dinner that he wanted to be. He didn’t try and talk over her, either, which Hermione greatly appreciated.

They discussed things from classes at Hogwarts to theories on potions making. He told her of his academic prowess, and Hermione was not surprised by how well he had done on his N.E.W.T.s and O.W.L.s. He teasingly grew sardonic when he said that she had bested his son at school and that he had half-a-mind to go up against her himself. Hermione grew self-conscious of that but Lucius congratulated her instead, saying that he valued intellect regardless the origination of the source. Hermione frowned at that, taking it as a backhanded compliment but Lucius smoothed it over by saying she should be a professor at Hogwarts one day, if she wished. In potions, perhaps? Lucius had suggested.

It was at that juncture that Hermione found herself thinking of Severus and Lucius seemed to also. She wondered what their relationship had been like because for a brief moment--probably thanks to the wine--Lucius let the mask slip and he looked almost remorseful. So, she asked.

“Do you miss him?”

Lucius looked her over sharply, the guard firmly back on, before he relaxed it slightly and nodded once. “Despite everything, he was my friend for a very long time.”

“Did you know?” Hermione asked quietly, watching him while playing with the handle of her empty tea mug. Lucius exhaled.

“About Potter’s mother? About his deception to the Dark Lord? About the unbreakable vow? Did I know?” He looked almost offended that she dare question his knowledge about his friend, an act belied by his next words which came in a disappointed tone. “No, I didn’t know. I suspected about Evans, but I didn’t know the degree in which his affections held for all of those years.”

“Pardon me, but how did you find out about the rest?” Hermione asked gently, unaware that anyone would have told him the truth about Severus’ actions.

Lucius smiled slightly but there was no genuine amusement in his face. “Let’s see. Oh yes. Narcissa told me about the Vow she had made Severus take just as she was packing her things to leave for the Continent. She told me in no uncertain terms that Severus was a better man than I had ever been, and then told me what he had promised to do in Draco’s sixth year. She also told me it was love that drove him to help Dumbledore in the first place, love, something she said I would know very little about, unless of course it was for myself.”

He went quiet there and Hermione almost became afraid of him again. He didn’t even try and summon a mask for his emotions then, letting the truth of it be written all over his face. Narcissa’s accusation about his not knowing love had hurt him, badly, because sadness mixed with rage turning his features into a terrible snarl of self-loathing. Hermione thought it would be so easy to provoke him into yelling at her, she wasn’t sure what to do. Instead, she did the only thing she could try and she hoped he wouldn’t snap at her for it.

She reached across the table and let her hand rest on his wrist, not daring to hold his hand for fear he could crush her fingers in a vice grip.

Lucius’ contemptuous face softened into confusion as he looked down where she was touching him and then he glanced to her face. She thought she could see hope shimmering in the recesses of his eyes, but it was hard to tell as his mouth twisted sharply into an unkind smirk.

“You would show compassion to _me_?” She noticed that he didn’t shake off her hand, even as he searched her face for any sign of disgust.

“I would show compassion to any who deserved it.” Hermione replied softly, leaving her hand where it was. His body was warm underneath the silk of his sleeves, and Hermione could feel the strength of his arm. He watched her carefully again and Hermione wondered what he was looking for. Honesty? Lies? Deception? Secrecy? He was so hard to read; it was unfair that she wasn’t.

“So, Narcissa left then?” Hermione supplied, hoping he would continue.

Lucius nodded and shifted his arm so that her fingers slid onto the table. She withdrew her hand and folded both of them in her lap.

“Yes, several years ago now. We are divorced.” Lucius took another sip of wine. He looked bitter again and Hermione was compulsed to do something to lighten his mood again. She didn’t offer an apology; in any other circumstance, she probably would agree that Narcissa was right to leave, and she wouldn’t apologize for that. Divorces also brought out messy things in the best of times where people would say things to someone else that they didn’t really mean. Terrible things were often said due to the hurt feelings.However, in this case, Hermione thought maybe, just maybe, Narcissa had been right. Besides, Hermione was inclined to side with Lucius’ ex-wife anyway because without her, there would have been absolutely no way that Harry would have been able to defeat Voldemort.

So Hermione asked about Severus again instead of telling her host that she agreed with his ex-wife’s logic.

“How did she know about what Severus felt for Lily? It doesn’t strike me that Snape would have told her.”

“Severus.” He corrected quietly, then his expression turned to one of surprise. “You don’t know?” Hermione shook her head. “Young Potter told her, of course. A few months after the battle, when we were both being questioned separately.”

Hermione frowned. “He did?” _Add that to the list of things to ask him about when he wakes up_ , she thought.

“Narcissa said that he commended her on her love for Draco and then explained a few things she had had questions on, one of them being Severus’ death and what happened afterward. Of course, she told me later in rather poignant terms and a rather unfair comparison, if I may say. I am not the most romantic of men, it would seem.” He turned sarcastic there, loathsome expression returning. “Since I would not spend decades pining after my lost love and then sacrifice myself for their memory.”

“It is my understanding that Severus did not have the happiest of childhoods,” Hermione started gently. “Perhaps he loved Lily so much because she was the first one to show him any real kindness or friendship?”

Lucius nodded and conceded her point, scowl lessening slightly. “I think you might be right. It would have been different had James Potter not married Lily and she had gone for Severus instead. Severus was never prone to drinking to excess, but he did one night shortly after our seventh year ended, and I thought it strange. Until I realized it was the day James married Lily. He did it again the night Potter was born.”

Hermione wondered just how good of friends they were. “You really cared about him, didn’t you?”

He looked at her again, expression looking very close to remorse. “I told you. He was my friend.”

The simplicity of his statement and the sadness he almost let himself show, settled something in Hermione’s mind about him. Harry had told her about the night in the Forbidden Forest where Narcissa had lied for him only after he confirmed that Draco was still alive. Harry had told her that both she and Lucius had abandoned Voldemort to find their son. And now, Lucius’ admission about his friendship with Severus allowed Hermione to draw a conclusion about him that she hadn’t thought possible before.

Lucius Malfoy may be an extremely talented, arrogant, intelligent, dangerous, attractive, and duplicitous man, but that’s not all he was. Unlike most of the other Death Eaters, he had the aptitude and the capacity to love, and he could do it deeply. To abandon Voldemort--the most feared wizard of the Age--at the edge of victory to find Draco without care to his own self... To be upset that Narcissa had left him and be hurt that she had accused him of not being able to love something other than himself… To have some level of grief for his long-time friend years after the loss of him…

Lucius Malfoy had the ability to love and have emotions. He wasn’t the psychopath that Hermione and the others had always assumed he was. A bit excessive in his taste for power, and most definitely misguided, but not wholly insane either. He could _feel_. She wasn’t sure why, but the revelation eased her mind a little.

“You have deduced something,” he stated, not accusingly. His eyes glittered no longer with loss but with interest. Maybe he could be as inquisitive as she was. Maybe she had leapt to the wrong conclusion and had given him too much praise with her judgment of his character. She didn’t know him very well, after all. _Well, one way to find out_.

“Would you like another friend, Mr. Malfoy?” She asked, then added quickly when he raised his eyebrow. “I mean, if you could force yourself to befriend a Muggleborn, that is.”

He smiled humorlessly again. “Are you sure you know what you’re asking? Most people don’t wish to know me these days.”

Draco’s words about his loneliness returned to her mind again and she wondered just how lonely Lucius really was. He didn’t make a snide comment; he didn’t immediately turn her down. He had been the perfect gentleman all evening, and had even given the indication they were on equal terms as both witch and wizard, man and woman. No sexist, racist, or other discretionary label had been applied so far this evening. Perhaps he was _that_ desperate for a companion?

She found herself wanting to believe that he was not false. She wanted to believe he had changed. Hermione couldn’t quite explain why that was. Hadn’t she said years before that Death Eaters’ victims deserved justice? How did that constitute wanting to befriend one of the most notorious? So she decided to provoke him, to tease him into doing something that would give her a reason to dislike him again. Something that would let her latch onto her former opinion of what he used to be.

She employed a light tone and said, “well, I imagine most people haven’t seen your library.”

“Ah, the real reason you wish my friendship reveals itself.” He replied instead and lowered his eyes. He had not fallen for her feint; he believed that was truly why she wanted to be near him. That didn’t help her quest for disliking him at all; rather the opposite. Her heart reached out for him. Did no one ever want to truly befriend him unless it was for something of their own gain?

“Well, I mean it is impressive, yes, but I was teasing you. You have been the most wonderful host to me since I arrived. And you didn’t seem to be bored by my discussion of different methods of brewing potions, which is always a plus. Harry, Ron, and Ginny never seem to get that far with me. You didn’t seem bored at all, so either you’re an excellent liar or you actually didn’t mind the discussion.”

“That’s because Weasels don’t have an aptitude for potions.” He replied knowingly before seeing her expression, “However, I admit that one boy of theirs--the one who works for Gringott’s--did quite well academically, did he not? Arithmancy is not an easy subject and I believe an Outstanding is the minimal requirement to be considered for a position with the bank.”

Hermione nodded, surprised he would know that about Bill. He must have seen the surprise on her face because he commented on it with an explanation, “Draco wanted to be a curse-breaker for a while, against my wishes. Unfortunately, he neglected to take arithmancy at school. He was spoken to by Bill Weasley as part of the preliminary interview process.”

“I didn’t know that, Bill never said.” Hermione trailed off in surprise. “Draco seems to have done well for himself. He seems happy.” Hermione supplied and Lucius nodded, a warmth crossing his face that Hermione hadn’t seen before.

“He is, very. Astoria is good for him.”

“I suppose the fact she is a Pureblood doesn’t hurt?”

Lucius looked at her levelly, happiness evaporating in his stare. Hermione wished she hadn’t said anything. The warmth was gone from his face, replaced by the mask of cold harshness that he hadn’t had even when discussing Narcissa.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems the only one focused on blood status this evening is _you_.” Hermione lowered her eyes out of embarrassment; he was right. She was the one who kept bringing it up. She felt her cheeks warm. When next he spoke, his tone was level but it was rising quickly as his temper revealed itself.

“Astoria is good for my son; not because she is a Slytherin, not because she is a pureblood, but because she makes him a better man. She is the sun to his winter’s day. And I am _painfully_ aware, Miss Granger, that my son did not always have the upbringing I would have wished for him. And a large part of that _is_ my fault, but the fact that he managed to find someone who could show him the real rewards of belonging to a family, who can understand what he did and why, who can see the bad in him as well as the good, and who can see all of that, know all of that, and not look past it but accept it and love him anyway, that is a person worth keeping.”

Hermione swallowed hard. She couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Not every witch would be able to do that at all, and most are in it for themselves and the Malfoy fortunes. I think you will find that it is very, very few witches indeed who could stand being in the same room as a former Death Eater, never mind _loving_ one!”

She kept her eyes on the table. His tone changed again, returning to the level, disappointed and cold one where it was evident he was still angry with her, but had reigned himself in enough to no longer shout.

“Have you met Astoria Greengrass, Hermione?”

It took a moment due to the constriction in her throat. “Not formally, no.”

“Then perhaps you should reserve your assumptions for those you actually have met, in the future, hmm? We all make mistakes, don’t we? Is it not in your nature to be forgiving?” He asked, picking up his wine goblet again but he waited for her answer before he would take a sip.

“I’m sorry.” She said and started to stand; this time it was humiliation that called her to leave.

“Where are you going?”

She shook her head, afraid to speak in case the tears she felt building started to come. Her throat burned as she said, “thank you for dinner.” Hermione took one step away from the table and Lucius called out to her again.

“I said we all make mistakes, Hermione. I only ask that you be kind in your judgements of people, especially those you don’t know.” She nodded but when she made no further effort to resume her place, he added, “ I would like you to stay, if you still wish to.”

Hermione chanced looking at him then and saw that he was watching her, his silver goblet back on the table. He was entirely unreadable now, but his voice had seemed sincere.

“You wished to be my friend, did you not?” Lucius promoted, reminding her of her own offer. Hermione nodded once. “Then, as my friend, please stay for the evening as we discussed. Tomorrow we can resume our research. I promise you a delightful breakfast as well.”

She kept a tight grip on the back of the chair that she had grabbed after she had stood up. She looked at him, trying to read an impossible man, and wondered if she had been right earlier. _Had_ he changed? Hermione had one last chance to escape; one last moment to make a clean break and get out of Malfoy Manor before it got too late. She could make it back to St. Mungo’s and see Harry and then go home and sleep in her own bed. It wouldn’t be glamorous, and there certainly wouldn’t be a delightful breakfast when she woke up…

Hermione lowered herself back into the chair slowly, making her decision to stay. She felt as though she made some sort of progress with Lucius, though to what end she wasn’t sure yet. He looked pleased as she returned to her place on his right side, but he made no comment on the matter as he picked up his goblet and resumed his drinking.

\-------

She slept in the bed he gave her.

Days of exhaustion, an evening of the most wonderful library she had ever seen followed by a very palatable meal with the accompaniment of an intellectually stimulating conversation mixed with her stress and worries for her dearest friend, and her head was not on the pillow for very long before she was asleep on the most comfortable bed she had ever laid on.

So relaxed she was, she didn’t notice immediately when the dream began.

She was laying on her stomach, not in the shirt she had fallen asleep in but in something far more sensuous than she would have ever picked out for herself. It was made of silk with lace on the edges and it was thin, so thin she was sure she could see her skin straight through it if she dared open her eyes and shifted to look. She wasn’t cold, however, since there was a fire burning in the grate nearby the enormous four-poster bed she was laying on top of. A few candles were assorted in the room, burning dimly to give the room a warm glow, but no more than that.

Hermione had never felt so relaxed, so at peace. She had her head turned to the side facing the burning fire, her head on top of her crossed arms and she felt like she was waiting, though for what was unclear. Her legs were crossed at the ankle and she was in that half-drowsy state between being awake and drifting off to sleep.

She didn’t startle when she felt the bed dip behind her, or when the warm finger traced slowly down her spine. The warmth of the hand touching her burned her through the silk and she felt her legs inadvertently spreading to allow the bulk of the man behind her more room to come closer. She smiled and relaxed into his touch as if they had done this before. Maybe they had; Hermione couldn’t bring herself to care.

Soon the finger gave way to the touch of the entire hand, two in fact, as slowly her shoulders were rubbed. If she thought she had been relaxed before, everything melted into the man’s touch as she became entirely pliant in his hands. She licked her lips and wanted to turn, wanted to face him, kiss him until she couldn’t breathe. She _ached_ for him. At her movement, the hands tensed slightly and held her firmly, but she could feel him leaning down where he kissed at her neck and nibbled lightly on her earlobe.

“Soon, pet.” He replied in a honeyed voice that had Hermione melting all the further. “For now, just stay right here.”

His voice was familiar but Hermione couldn’t immediately place it. She didn’t overthink it because her companion was kissing his way down her neck slowly and across her shoulder where the thin strap of the nightgown was a mere wisp of an obstacle. It slid down her arm as he kissed across her skin, her body warming to his touch and soon it became difficult to hold still. Blooms of heat spread through her and she wanted to turn around and pull him close with her thighs while kissing him, and more.

She could feel his enormity behind her, a large man over six foot if she guessed, and he was careful to not press his full weight on her as he made his way down her body, his mouth now kissing through the fabric of her back. His fingers were trailing along the outside of her thighs and she spread them further, hoping for him to touch her where she was quickly becoming wetter. He didn’t. Hermione groaned slightly into the mattress when his fingers shifted to focus on her inner thighs, thumbs rubbing gently but nowhere near high enough to be of any relief.

“ _Please_ ,” she breathed and he laughed lightly.

He tortured her by brushing the tips of his fingers against her center, but it was only a ghost of a touch, nothing more and he kept his thumbs pressed into her thighs. Hermione groaned again and found her toes curling so she could press back into him.

“Please...I want--” She gasped when he touched her again, three of his fingers laying flat against the very thin, very sheer scrap of material covering her sex. Her voice was air. “ _Yes_.”

His laugh came from his throat as he leaned up again to kiss her neck. By her ear, he murmured a command to lift her hips into the air with her knees under herself so that she would have to support herself on her forearms. She complied quickly as he ran his hands over the roundness of her bottom and then his thumbs caught in the ties of her underwear. She rolled her hips to help him remove them from her body to the point where they were bunched around her knees. She mewled when she felt his breath against her skin before he kissed the lowest point of her spine, just before he let his tongue slide down into the crevice of her ass.

Hermione’s fingers gripped the sheets tightly as he moved lower under her to begin kissing her folds. He parted her with his tongue while one of his hands pressed down on her back, forcing her head down to rest on the bed. She moaned when his other hand lifted to hold her hips still so he could press his mouth harder against her. Her toes curled again as she spread herself open for him, uncomprehending of the feeling of his tongue inside her. It was so good, so dirty; she had never felt this wanton before, but it felt _good_. But it wasn’t enough, she wanted more.

“Fuck… Please. Please, fuck me.” She begged him, uncaring how she sounded. She needed him inside her. She felt the vibrations of his laughter against her as he only gripped her harder. He moved his hand from her back after a few moments and replaced his tongue with his fingers and he did not give her much time to adjust to the change before he was thrusting them in and out of her.

Hermione pushed back into his hand so that she was fucking herself on his hand. Her mouth bit on the skin of her arm as she turned her head into it. Her hands were clinging to the sheets as if they were the only thing holding her to earth and his hand was preparing to send her off into space. She cried out, begged, pleaded for more, for something, for _him_ , and he kept her in her torturous prison of wanting more at the same time as being touched so deliciously well that it was too much to bear.

“Come for me pet, let me hear you scream.” He said, voice close to her ear again and Hermione bit down on her lip to fight his request for as long as she could. She wanted him to suffer as she was suffering, wanted him to be pulled into a sense of frenzied madness that he couldn’t stand it.

His hand were too much and she was too weak against him, especially when he sucked on her earlobe so large and warm behind her. She came hard against his fingers, crying out in abandon as she lost herself to the rush of sensation. She was sure she swore at him, but she lost her senses for a few moments.

When she came back to herself, she could feel him stroking her flanks slowly, his hips pressing against her bum. He was still wearing trousers, the fucker, but she could feel his hardness against her. Perhaps he had suffered after all. Hermione squirmed again, this time she had less of an effort in it, her bones were liquid inside of her. But he let her roll onto her back and she looked up at him, seeing how dark his grey eyes had become with his lust unsatisfied. His blond hair fell about his shoulders and Hermione wanted to sink her fingers into it as she kissed him. His white button-down shirt was half hanging out of his trousers but it wasn’t enough; she wanted to see more of him.

She had never been much of a sex-crazed wanton woman, but there was something about _him_ that called to that primal part of her. She lifted her hand and crooked her finger, the action only seeming to darken his eyes further. When he shook his head, Hermione summoned the will to move as she sat up.

“I _said_ come here,” she said running her hands up his chest until reaching the top button to start undoing them.

“Forgive me.” He said, lips ghosting across her temple.

“Earn my forgiveness.” She retorted and moved to suck on his neck, marking it as her own. “You’re entirely too handsome to stay in this outfit.” She said kissing her way up to his mouth. She met his eyes and said the most honest thing she had ever said. “I want you. Now.”

His eyes flickered as he groaned. “You’re the greatest temptation, witch.”

She kissed him. She had every intention of keeping it chaste, but at the taste of him there was no possible way she could leave it at that. She lifted her hands to his hair and threaded them through his long silken blond strands as she kissed him. His tongue entered her mouth but she fought him for the control of it. He didn’t give in to her, nor did she to him.

Hermione made her fingers work to unbutton his shirt, pulling it free of him once they were undone. Her hands pushed it off his shoulders so that it bunched at his elbows as he held her close to his body. His hand was massive as it rested on her hips, the other splayed against her back to keep her against him so that he could kiss her just as roughly as she encouraged him with her moans. She was rocking her hips into his, making him only harder against her.

“Fuck.” He groaned when her hand lightly touched him through his trousers. He was losing control, she could see it, and it thrilled her.

“Fuck me. I want you to be inside me.” She told him, her words a ghost across his lips.

His control snapped and he threw her backwards onto the bed, she bounced in reflection and her seductiveness faded under the wildness in his expression. She was only afraid for a half-second before he ripped the belt off and threw it across the room. His hand dropped to undo his pants as he shifted toward her. Hermione groaned as he reached forward and squeezed her breast through the nightgown.

He slid out of his pants as Hermione let her legs move around his hips to pull him close like she had wanted to since he started. Her arms reached for him, pulled him down over her, and she crashed their lips together. He nibbled at her bottom lip and she groaned loudly into him. He balanced himself with his forearms on either side of her head and rocked his hips against hers until he found the right angle and let his erection slide into her. Hermione cried out again, begging him to go deeper. He complied and they had a rhythm going that spiralled Hermione to heights of pleasure that eclipsed what his mouth had done earlier.

His eyes were closed tight and Hermione watched his face for as long as she could until the movement of his thrusts sent her out of orbit into oblivion again. She pressed herself against him, not able to be close enough, her body arched into his in a perfect bow against his chest. His lips sucked on her collarbone and Hermione was lost to him entirely.

She heard him come from somewhere far away, lost in the deafness of her own perfect orgasm. Her senses were robbed of her because of his touch and how he knew her so well. When she opened her eyes, it could have been hours, days, weeks later, but he was on his side, his arm around her middle, the other hand playing with her hair and watching her as if she were the most revered thing in all of the universe. Hermione smiled, out of breath, and reached to wrap her fingers around his wrist.

“Are you happy?” He asked and she nodded, sated smile on her lips. He seemed to relax at that, drawing her closer with his lips lightly pressing against hers before he charmed the blankets to wrap around them both. “Sleep well, my darling.”

It wasn’t until Hermione woke much, much later in the morning in the real world with her hand in her panties and the other squeezing her nipple that she realized the body had been Lucius Malfoy, but the voice had belonged to her Phantom.


	9. Running the Gamut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has it already been a month of no updates?? I'm sorry!! D: Here we have a myriad of emotion and problems to be solved. More to come! Thank you to everyone who reads this story, it really is great of you ♥

Hermione took an embarrassingly long amount of time to get out of her borrowed bedroom and go to the dining room for breakfast. At first she was horrified at realising what she had woken up doing to herself, and then she grew extremely guilty about what she had dreamt. It was like another of the Phantom’s dreams, only this time it had somehow pulled Lucius into the very realistic quality of them. Merlin, she really hoped that hadn’t been one of the Phantom’s dreams. If it was, she’d have a hell of a time convincing herself to demand answers from him the next time they met.

Besides that, she’d been horrified to realize it was Lucius she’d dreamt of. What about Ron? Where was he in her fantasies? She tried to calm herself down by saying she couldn’t possibly have been in control of what she had _dreamt_ but where on earth had it come from?

Yes, Lucius was attractive. Yes, he’d been the most charming man she’d met in a very long while--a fact she _never_ imagined herself saying. Yes, he’d been fantastic yesterday with all of his help, including the use of his library, the translations as bane as they were, and the most delicious dinner she’d ever had; and yet he was still _Lucius Malfoy_. Even if Hermione somehow managed to forget all about the whole Death Eater, Wizarding War rounds one and two, and all of his former antagonistic prejudiced beliefs and decades-worth of blood-bias and boiled it down to the most simple fact in the world that he was a fairly-recently single, eligible male wizard there was the fact that Hermione was in a committed relationship and Lucius was the father of one of her schoolmates. He had to be at least twenty years older than her, if not more.

 _But so what? Magic users frequently have an extended lifespan. It wouldn’t be_ that _unusual._

But what about Ron?

Hermione shook her head. This was absurd. What was it about the book from the Hampshire house that had led to these confusing, uncomfortable thoughts about another man? All she had needed yesterday was his help, thank you very much, and then she would have been right back home, or on the trail of another lead for Harry. Ronald was perfectly fine, thank you very much. Merlin’s sake. Hadn’t they been happy together for all these years? Hermione had certainly never felt the need to stray beyond her own bedroom when it came to any notion of romance. Ronald was perfectly adequate when it came to the matters of their hearts. Sure, he could be infuriating at times and stubborn, but so was she. Ronald put up with her own issues just fine. They didn’t have catastrophic-relationship problems; they had gone through too much stuff together to have such issues or concerns. They just _understood_ one another, and wasn’t that really what was needed in a romantic partner?

Hermione wanted to beat her head against a desk. She spared a glance around the luxurious bedroom she had borrowed for the night. No desk, but there was a rather sturdy armoire she could give a try…

She sighed and flopped back into the pillows. It really was the most comfortable bed she had ever been in and looking around the room, she already knew this was the nicest bedroom she’d ever been in also. It had been a huge step up at Hogwarts from her childhood home’s room and this was echelons above Hogwarts.

In a change from the rest of the Manor that she had seen, this room had no silver and emerald motif; rather, it was a cream and gold theme with the furniture in the French and feminine style. She was not in a four poster bed like she had half-expected, but rather a simple queen-sized bed with clawed feet that rested comfortably in the plush ivory carpet. Beside the bed were matching light-colored wooden tables where a small silver lamp adorned both of them. Hermione did notice that the base of the lamps did have serpents entwined to make up the column that held the lamp. There was the previously mentioned armoire and dresser beside it, a mirror hanging over the latter. Sitting atop the chest of drawers was a plain white China vase that held blue hydrangea cuttings that appeared fresh. Hermione was amazed; where could those have been retrieved from in the middle of winter? The entire room smelled clean and fresh and Hermione remembered briefly being lulled to sleep by the pleasantness of that clean laundry smell before she’d fallen into that wanton mess of a dream, wrapped in the softest down comforter with fine gold stitching she’d ever seen.

Directly across from the bed was a fireplace, smaller than the one in the library but proportionate to the suite that she now occupied. It was also carved in marble, though a vanilla color unlike the one in the drawing room. On the way back towards the door that led out to the rest of the Manor, there was a simple table with another vase of hydrangeas, this time they were a more purple color than blue, and beyond them were two large windows with sheers covering the view from Hermione’s sight. The sheers were flanked by drapes in a gold and ivory brocade.

There was a door opposite of the one that led out to the hallway to her left and Hermione suspected there might be a bathroom on the opposite side. She reluctantly made herself leave the warm comfort of the bed and went to that door. She opened it slowly and peered round the corner. Once aware of her presence, the room seemed to know what to do; several candles throughout the room self-illuminated the largest most self-indulgent bathroom Hermione had ever seen. Almost the entire room was cut from the same vanilla-colored marble and was polished to a shining perfection. There was a giant soak tub in the middle of the left side wall with a shower right next to it. The toilet itself was in its own small closet while several counters with a pristine white sink sat in the middle. There was a gold handle for the tap. A seamless, never-ending mirror made up the right side wall just above the counters. Several towels were waiting on the counter, almost inviting her to take a bath; and a small rectangular cut of a window ran the top of the opposing wall.

“Fuck you, Lucius Malfoy.” Hermione said aloud, but to herself. She would never be able to spend the night in a well-adorned hotel ever again without being able to compare it to the Manor’s facilities.

She longed to try out the tub, but she couldn’t. Firstly, she didn’t have the time; secondly, she didn’t have any other clothes to wear that would warrant a shower, never mind a soak. She would look a sight to the otherwise pristine Malfoy, she thought, wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Lucius had probably never even considered such a thing in his entire life, she thought as Hermione shook her head and quickly set about using the bathroom, using her finger as a toothbrush with some quickly sought and found toothpaste. As she started to leave the room, she looked at the tub again before wrenching herself out of there and forcing herself to collect her thoughts as she stood in the bedroom with her hands on her hips.

The Manor was silent as far as she could tell, but then again she was so far removed from everything in this wing of the house, there could have been a full-blown orchestra playing Beethoven in the Manor’s grand hall and she wouldn’t have known about it. Hermione recalled the events after dinner the night before.

It had been nearly one in the morning when Lucius had decided it was bedtime. Hermione was grateful; she had very much enjoyed their conversation but had been fighting weariness since the bottle of Malfoy’s finest red had been polished off (by the man himself; Hermione hadn’t touched a drop). He had seen that, she realized, and had escorted her to the opposite wing from the library. At the door, he’d told her goodnight and had excused himself and that was the last time she’d seen anything to do with him, at least until her dreams had kicked in. Hermione blushed again and shook her head, criticizing herself. She _never_ woke up mid-orgasm like that. Not ever. She was a little bit ashamed of herself.

“Where to start?” Hermione asked softly, trying to organize herself into action. No sooner had she spoke, than a whisper-soft ‘pop’ announced the arrival of a house elf in the middle of the bedroom. Hermione was a little taken aback; in her stay at the Manor, she hadn’t seen any elves whatsoever. Not even at dinner. The courses had magically appeared and disappeared as the evening had gone on. Hermione had suspected it was a facsimile to Hogwarts; there was likely a replica of the Malfoy dining room under it and that’s where the elves worked.

“Hello.” Hermione said by way of greeting to the bowing-elf.

“Good morning, Miss. Master says I am to do as you ask.” The elf said in a soft-spoken voice that reminded Hermione almost of Luna. Hermione considered the elf’s words and wondered what Lucius expected her to do with an elf.

“And what is your name?” Hermione asked the female elf.

“Livvy, Miss.”

“Thank you Livvy. Please call me Hermione. And where is your master?” Hermione wished she had some more clothes to wear. She felt uncomfortable in the presence of anyone in just her t-shirt and underwear.

“In the library, Miss Hermione. He says you may join him if you like after you are rested and refreshed.” Livvy looked up at Hermione expectantly with large green eyes that Hermione was reminded of Dobby because of. Another painful reminder of the past that was connected with this house.

“I’ll just get dressed and see him then.” Hermione said and looked around for her trousers but saw they were missing from the chair she had left them folded on the night before. Come to think of it, they hadn’t been there when she had first woken up either.

“What are you looking for Miss?” Livvy asked, seeing Hermione looking around.

“My...well, my pants.” Hermione said, blush rising to her cheeks. “And my bra.”

“Master says to do Miss’ laundry while you were sleeping, Miss Hermione. He says you can wear something from here if you like.” Livvy pointed to the large armoire in the room and Hermione shook her head.

“Oh that’s too much! I just need my clothes please, Livvy, and I will be fine.”

Livvy looked ready to argue, but in the end, the elf didn’t and simply disappeared with a pop. A moment later, she had returned with the freshly-laundered slacks and bra that Hermione had been wearing, though her blouse and panties would have to do without the same freshness.

“Thank you Livvy. I’ll just thank Mast--Lucius for his hospitality and be off. Thank you again, for all of your trouble.” Hermione said, struggling into her clothes. The elf looked at her as if she thought she was crazy before speaking again.

“Will Miss Hermione like lunch?”

Her stomach rumbled, but she ignored it. Hermione just wanted an end to this horribly awkward encounter, the sooner the better. _Wait a moment._

“Lunch?!”

“Yes, Miss. It’s after noon and almost one o’clock.”

Hermione excused herself over her shoulder to Livvy before rushing for the door. She had to go. _Immediately_.

\--------------

As Hermione made her way through the corridors of St. Mungo’s, she recalled all too well the amused look on Lucius Malfoy’s face when she had burst into the library. He had been sitting at the desk, finger poised to turn the page when she had pushed the giant doors open. The wards had allowed her entry and she was grateful; she wouldn’t have remembered the incantations to open the doors if she had her life depending on it. He had looked her over head to toe, seen the state of her hair, and wrinkled clothing and had opened his mouth to speak with dark mischief dancing in his eyes before Hermione interrupted what she was positive would have been a scathing rebuke, newly discovered friendship or not.

He, as Hermione had feared, was just as handsome that morning as he had been every other time she’d seen him. He had abandoned his formal public attire once again and had settled for nice black slacks, pristinely pressed with the crease down the front no less, and a white silk button-down shirt covered with a black vest that made up most of a three-piece suit, but the coat was missing. His sleeves had been rolled up to the elbow and his hair pulled back into an emerald ribbon-held queue that was draped over his shoulder due to the length of his hair. Damn him and damn whatever crush Hermione was developing on him that made absolutely no sense. _When had it developed into a crush?_ She dared not ask.

She had thanked him for his generous hospitality and the most wonderful rest she’d ever had, blushing a little as she said it, but she pushed through the rest of her words and didn’t notice his soft-spoken agreement of the pleasure of her company. He had offered lunch as well, but she had declined and said that she really needed to go. He then had asked if he could keep the runes for further research and Hermione had allowed it to him; if they truly were meaningless or just a simple text, then what was the harm? He had escorted her to a nearby sitting room and had offered her Floo-powder. She was glad neither of them had to mention the parlor before she’d given him a smile, thanked him one last time, and then had gone straight home from the Manor.

Hermione pushed past a few people in the lift and got off at Harry’s floor in the hospital before starting down the hallway. She received a few stares from people, but she thought she looked better than she had an hour ago. She had made it home, fed Crookshanks, showered and changed, made sure she properly brushed her teeth this time, had a quick sandwich, and then rushed back off to the hospital to see how Harry was doing. She couldn’t believe she had slept all morning!

It was almost three by the time she knocked lightly and pushed the door to Harry’s room open. She was greeted by the sight of a frantic looking Ginny and Molly Weasley. Everyone else had left. Molly stood up when Hermione stood in the doorway and she rushed over to pull Hermione into a rib-splitting hug.

“Oh Hermione dear! Where have you been? We’ve been so worried!”

Hermione patted Molly’s back awkwardly as Ginny stood from Harry’s bedside and came over to greet her friend also. Hermione noticed that Ginny was looking pale and drawn, but she still managed to look relieved at the sight of Hermione.

“Where were you, dear? Arthur said you were investigating something?” Molly asked again, bringing Hermione further into the room.

“I was just looking into something, that’s all.” Molly gave Hermione a quick nod and stepped out of the room, leaving the pair of them together.

“About Harry?” Ginny asked and Hermione gave her a quick hug.

“Yes.” She admitted reluctantly.

“What is it? Have you found anything?” Ginny asked quickly. “The boys came by earlier, and they couldn’t bear to see him like this. _I_ can’t bear to see him like this!” Her voice broke and she sank into the chair again. Hermione rubbed Ginny’s back lightly and looked sadly at her friend. Harry was exactly as she had left him the day before. He seemed at peace, wherever he was.

“I’m still looking into it, Gin. I don’t want to give you false hope.” Hermione said as kindly as she could. She chewed her lip and sat in Molly’s vacated chair.

“Who could have done this? What _child_ could have done this?” Ginny asked and Hermione shook her head. “What monster?”

“I don’t know, Ginny. I don’t know, yet.” Hermione looked at both of her friends and felt a fierce surge of protectiveness between the pair of them. She had to get Harry back, not only for his own sake, but for Ginny’s too. Harry was too important to his family to be lost to them.

“I hope you find something out soon. I need him, Hermione. I need him back.” Ginny looked at Hermione then and Hermione was moved by the depth of sadness and despair in Ginny’s eyes. It was worry, plain and simple, and to her soul. “It’s silly, that a little curse can take what even Voldemort couldn’t.”

Hermione nodded in agreement. “I know. But it can’t have just been some simple little curse. If it was, then they would have found a cure for it by now and he’d be better.” _Or dead_ , Hermione thought but she didn’t dare say that part.

Hermione sighed and looked at Harry. Silently, she asked him why he was being so much trouble. _You just couldn’t have lived happily ever after, could you?_ she asked him with a grim smile.

The two witches sat in relative silence apart from Ginny’s occasional sniffles for a few moments before Hermione heard Ron break the silence from down the hallway. She could hear him coming a corridor away. His voice carried as he swore and Hermione winced at the scene he was probably causing out at the healer’s station. She could only hear every few words of his side of the conversation, but it wasn’t going well for whoever was trying to talk to him.

“GINNY..WHAT DO YOU…MIONE? FUCKING HELL! WHERE?!”

Ginny gave Hermione an apologetic look that Hermione didn’t have time to question before the door was being opened roughly and a disheveled looking Ronald was standing in the doorway. Behind him, Hermione could see a flustered Molly and weary-looking Arthur.

“Where the BLOODY HELL have you BEEN?” Ron asked moving into the room.

“Ron!” Molly said, getting red in the face. “Watch your _mouth_!”

“Ron, I was out. I was looking into a clue…”

“What clue? A clue for what? Why? Why did you not say where? I could have gone with you! This is no job for bloody amateurs!”

It didn’t occur to Hermione that Kingsley wouldn’t have told Ron what she was up to before that moment. From the way Ron was acting, she didn’t think the Minister had. Was that an oversight on his part, or had it been intentional? A question, she would have to ask him when she returned to the Ministry later.

“It was very sudden,” she started only to be bowled over by another blast of Ron’s anger. “I sent a note.” She looked at Arthur, who nodded.

“Yes, I got her patronus and a letter saying she’d be out later than she had anticipated.” Ron looked unphased by his father’s alibi and turned back to Hermione to continue to pester her with questions that he gave her no time to answer.

She knew he wasn’t really angry, just worried and that was how it had decided to manifest itself. She ignored the slight about being an ‘amateur’ and waited for him to calm down. That didn’t make it any easier to be yelled at, however, and she had to remind herself to be patient with him. He was only worried after her safety, after all.

“Ronald.” Hermione had to say his name several times in a patient, yet firm tone before he finally paused for breath for long enough so that she could speak. “I was being asked to look into something by Kingsley. Everything is all right. I was just gone longer than I thought I would be. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“What were you looking into? And where have you been?” Ron asked, staring into her eyes.

“Where have _you_ been?” Hermione countered. “I went home and you weren’t there yesterday morning.” The voices from the lounge in the Hampshire house sprung back to her again. Was Ron unfaithful after all these years? Did it really matter after last night? _Of course it bloody does_ Hermione said, mentally shaking herself. Ronald was her future, even if he was being a hippogriff’s arse right now.

Ron looked confused. “I went to the Ministry to see if they had any updates before I came back to the hospital. Why?”

“Because...because well you weren’t there, and you said you were going to be.” Hermione finished lamely. That _did_ make complete sense. “ _Did_ they have any updates?”

“Now hold on a moment here.” Ron started and took Hermione by the arm. His grip was firm but he wasn’t hurting her as he moved to pull her into a corner of the room where Ginny and his parents weren’t staring at them. A futile effort considering how small the room was; that didn’t stop him from casting a privacy charm with Auror-level strength in it so that no matter how curious Molly and Arthur were, they weren’t going to be able to eavesdrop. Hermione was momentarily distracted by the proficiency of his charm-work when he asked, “Where have _you_ been? Let’s get that straight first.”

Hermione strongly suspected that Ron would react very poorly if she found out about the Malfoys’ involvement in this matter. She had a strong inkling that Ron would hex Draco into next week if he could, never mind the smears against Lucius that he would concoct. She didn’t think she was being irrational with that assessment. Ron would think the worst of her and Lucius, no matter that nothing had happened. He would also love to get an excuse to get Draco into trouble and possibly fired from the Ministry. If he could get Lucius in Azkaban, she didn’t think anything would stop him either. Practically, it’d be only a little slip of the tongue to the right person and the entire Ministry would be scouring the Manor for any sign of Dark Magic. Hermione thought of that small, restricted section of the library and she could only imagine what the Aurors would do in terms of destruction to that beautiful place. Lucius would be devastated and Draco would never forgive her for sending the Aurors to his home. She could see it all so perfectly. Lucius would feel betrayed and would be hard-pressed to ever really trust anyone again. Draco would hate her with a burning passion, might possibly lose his job, and if he did that, would Astoria stand by him?

Both of the Malfoy men had made positive strides in their lives, could she ruin that by telling Ronald the truth?

Hermione wasn’t in the habit of lying to anyone, especially Ron, but this time she knew that it would be corrosively unfair to Lucius if she didn’t. After spending the previous day with him, she knew she was protecting him from Ron’s temper, and while she didn’t think Lucius could handle himself against her fiance, she didn’t think he ought to have to.

So she lied by omission while simultaneously thinking how very Slytherin it was of her to do so.

“I was in the Department of Mysteries, Ronald. Kingsley knows the specifics. If I can help Harry, you know I will. You also know how someone can lose track of time down there. I didn’t realize it was so late, I’m sorry.” She was sorry that she had to keep this from him. She’d tell him the truth one day, when there wouldn’t be such serious repercussions, or when he was so overjoyed to have Harry back that it wouldn’t matter how exactly the cure had come to be known to them, only that it had been. Hermione refused to think of the alternative and refocused on Ron.

“Did you find anything out?” She asked him again.

“As a matter of fact, we did.” He pulled something from his coat and dismissed the privacy charms so that Molly and Arthur stopped their own conversation and looked over at the pair of them. “This morning’s _Prophet_ ,” Ron said at everyone’s inquisitive looks and unfolded the front page to show Ron front and center with a pair of other aurors hauling in a suspect. The headline said ‘HAMPSHIRE MURDER SUSPECT QUESTIONED’. Hermione frowned when she saw the author of the piece.

“Since when does Rita Skeeter cover murder cases?”

“Since we allowed it.” Ron said, shaking his head. “Annoying she may be, but she got the story out there.” Hermione took the paper and reviewed the article, ignoring the fluff that Rita Skeeter’s writing always had included in it, and sought out the real story from the ridiculous. Ginny read over Hermione’s shoulder out loud.

“‘Thomas Vanbjörn of Glasgow was brought in by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement today to be questioned on the three murders of the Powell family.’ There’s a lot of gross stuff about the murder,” Ginny paraphrased as Hermione dismissed the details as false from having seen the house herself, and then Ginny continued, “‘Not much is known personally of Vanbjörn, however, as he is an immigrant to our community. What is known is that he is a half-blood from Scandinavia who had been living in Scotland for the past few years making his living as a potions master of some repute. He had been in England to collect samples of,’ I can’t say that word, sorry. Anyway, he was collecting samples of some such thing…”

“Likely story.” Ron added smugly before Ginny went on.

“‘Vanbjörn’s motive is unclear but extremely capable lead Auror in charge of the case, Mister Ronald Weasley,’ did she _honestly_ describe you as a strapping eligible young man? Has she _seen_ you?”

“Hey!”

“What about Hermione?”

Hermione spared a grateful look to Arthur for sticking up for her, but she occupied herself turning the page to continue the article in Ginny’s place who was too busy bickering with Ron about Rita Skeeter’s descriptive skills.

“‘...extremely capable lead-Auror in charge of the case...Ronald Weasley...who stated that Vanbjörn was a person of interest in the matter and every effort would be used to determine his guilt and motive behind his actions. Surprisingly silent in this matter is the infamous Harry Potter. Where is he, and why is he so inept at doing his job that a co-worker need take charge of the case?’”

Hermione stopped reading out loud and closed the paper, refusing to read slanderous accusations against Harry that Skeeter had been writing after that last line. Ron ignored his demotion from ‘extremely capable’ to just a mere co-worker with grace but Ginny wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily. Hermione looked at the pair of them and had a mind to stop their childish bickering but this was the most animated she’d seen Ginny in days and she wasn’t sure when it would happen again. Hermione spared a glance for Harry and felt like he would understand if only he were around to help her out. She sighed and turned to Ron.

“Ron, what proof do you have that this Vanbjörn-gentleman is who did it? What were you saying about that little girl, did you ever find her?”

The question seemed to collect the breath of everyone in the room, save Harry, Hermione, and Ron. Molly’s eyes were flicking back and forth between Hermione and Ron with such speed it almost made her dizzy. Arthur remained where he was, cautiously looking between the pair of them, and Ginny was almost a copy of Molly in her curiosity.

“We didn’t find her. The muggle was mistaken. And Vanbjörn was in the area at the same time as the attack, and he has no alibi. ‘Out picking some mushroom’ or some bollocks as that. No one saw him.”

“But why would he? What reasoning did he have?”

“Someone magical did this, Hermione. There aren’t that many magic-users in that area of Hampshire.”

“But did you look into all of them? Did you eliminate them one by one till you had your man? Or did you just pick this one because he’s an immigrant? Did you pick him because he had no solid alibi? Or did you pick him because he’s guilty? This case is very, very flimsy as it is Ronald.”

She could see Ron’s eyes narrowing as she kept speaking, but it wasn’t until she called his work flimsy that he interrupted her.

“How about you leave the murder-solving to the real professionals, say Hermione?”

Hermione stared at Ron. How many times had they sat around their kitchen table and she had helped him on things that had puzzled him before? How many times had she worked something crucial out for him that he later relied on to help solve the case? How many times did she have to prove herself over and over to this man?

“You’re right. Absolutely.” Hermione squared her shoulders. “I’ll be off to work then while you get to the bottom of it.”

Ron nodded, looking pleased that he had won the argument so easily. Ginny looked sympathetically at her but her expression changed to a darker one aimed at her brother. Molly looked away out of embarrassment and Arthur, kind Arthur gave Hermione a small reassuring look as she walked past him.

As she stepped out into the hallway, she heard Arthur say to Ron something that made her smile and she started down the hallway to return to the Ministry to do exactly as Arthur had suspected she would. She laughed as his words echoed in her mind just before she focused on the Ministry and apparated, “If you think she’s going back to _work_ , you’ve got your head stuck in a pile of dragon dung.”

\----------

Draco was not in his office when Hermione arrived. She knocked and waited a moment, looking around the hallway of the Department and felt goosebumps along her skin. When the door remained unopened, Hermione sighed and conjured a chair to wait for him to return, while trying to avoid looking at the spot that the phantom had appeared in when they had both been down here.

She closed her eyes and tried to think but found herself blocked from doing so. She considered going back into that meditative state to see if new information couldn’t be gleaned, but she had lost too much time for one day and she didn’t think that would look very good to be half-conscious in the Department of Mysteries corridor.

Still, she must have temporarily dozed off because when she came to, Draco was leaning against the door to his office and was smirking down at her. He moved his foot and the chair that she had been sitting it came back down hard on all four legs from where he’d tipped it up only onto the two back ones. Hermione swore at him and rubbed her eyes.

“You couldn’t just say hello like a normal person?” She accused and tried to align herself.

“Says the person who is camped out outside my door. What if I’d gone for the day? What if I’d taken a four-day weekend?”

“You wouldn’t have.” Hermione said, pushing herself up to her feet as she dismissed the chair with a flick of her wand.

“What makes you so sure?” Draco asked opening his door and letting her in first.

“You have that book. You wouldn’t leave it for an extra day off.”

“What if I was getting married this weekend?”

“Are you?” Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise and Draco shrugged, shutting the door behind himself.

“No. But I might, one day.”

“Astoria?”

“Who else?” Draco asked but she could see the protectiveness in his eyes as his gaze flicked to the photo on his desk before back to her.

“Luna Lovegood, perhaps?” Hermione said by way to lighten the intensity in his eyes that were waiting on an answer. “Radish earrings, not your type?” She said when he rolled his eyes and sat down.

“It’s not that I’m opposed to her taste in...everything, but rather, I’m not one inclined to cheat on my significant other, and neither is she I would have thought.” Draco said, pulling a file close to him to read.

Hermione frowned. “Luna isn’t involved with anyone. She’d have said something.”

“But would you have listened?” Draco asked, not looking up. When Hermione remained silent, Draco sighed and his golden head lifted from the paperwork he’d been reviewing. “Longbottom and Lovegood. They’re involved.”

“But Neville and Hannah--”

“Broke up ages ago.Do keep up in the social lives of your so-called friends, won’t you?” Draco teased and Hermione frowned. Had she really been that fixated on work she had lost track of all of them?

“How do you know these things?” Hermione deflected, upset that Draco knew and she didn’t.

“Unspeakable, Granger. I know things.” Draco smirked and Hermione was reminded of the urge to throttle him but she refrained, barely.

“Speaking of which, your father seemed to think our book was only a prototype to a textbook for charms. Hardly the mystery I thought it was.” She let her bitterness flood her tone. “I just thought there was _something_ there.”

“I think there might be, if it helps.” Draco said kindly, softer than she would ever have imagined for him. He really had changed, hadn’t he?

“Go on, please?” Hermione asked, hoping for something to lead her along in this case. She wanted Harry to be better. For himself, for Ginny, for their family, for herself, and to prove to Ron that she wasn’t just an amateur detective playing a game. This was far more important than that and if he couldn’t see that then that was his own damn problem.

“Father sent an owl this morning saying what you had just told me only in a little more detail. He thinks there would be a way to test the book’s theory, but where is the problem. He can’t come here and the book isn’t safe anywhere but here...so once I have that figured out, then we can proceed.”

Hermione nodded slowly. “What does he think it is?”

“Undecided yet. He thinks there could be some layers to the book that aren’t going to show in a simple rune by rune translation. I think he could be right because there is a dark, potent energy that thrums in that book that I’ve never seen before, nor anyone else down here.”

“Did it...did the book…’call’ to you?”

Draco watched her carefully. “I can’t say that it did. What did it do, Hermione?”

Hermione was grateful that he was asking a question from a clinical point of view rather than a skeptical one. He trusted her opinion and to say it was refreshing was an understatement. Even Harry sometimes doubted her.

The memory of the book’s effect came back to her the way a poignant memory can easily be recalled to the surface. It was a dull ache now, but it was still there and it heightened when she thought about it. She’d had the itch all day to return to her thoughts about the book and what secrets it could hold and every time it was more than a whisper dancing along her thoughts begging for more attention than what she dared give it. But now that she was thinking about it, it was there in the forefront of her mind and she could hear the waves again, only from a distance as if a few miles away rather than on the beach itself.

“The sea.” Hermione said softly and Draco frowned. She thought more about it and she wasn’t entirely in Draco’s office anymore, but getting closer to that distant shore. “Every time I think about it, there’s always the sea. The waves, the sand, the smell, the salt. You can smell it, taste it. The only thing you can’t do is see it. I want--”

“Hermione!”

She blinked. Draco was not at his desk, but he had his arm around her, holding her back. She frowned and realized she wasn’t sitting down anymore either. She had gotten up and had started walking towards his fireplace. Another two steps, and she’d be getting burned by the flame. She swallowed and saw that Draco’s eyes were staring into her own.

“You can’t be with that book. It’s got a hold on you.” Draco said, not releasing her but making no effort to hold her closer either. Hermione could feel the strength of muscle in his arm and on his chest; he’d put up a fight if he had to and she’d be hard-pressed to escape from his strength.

“I’m fine. It’s just a book. What harm is there from reading a book?”

“Loads.” Draco said, his voice trying for humor that his eyes didn’t possess. “I think you should go home.”

Hermione tried to take a step back from him and Draco released her, still standing in front of the fireplace and preventing its heat from spreading into the room. He still looked concerned.

“I’m fine, really Draco. I can go back to work.”

“I thought you took time off.” He said and Hermione recalled telling him that the day before just before she left to go to the Manor.

“Yes, I did. But I could still do something. I need to help Harry, Draco. I need to be doing something.”

He shook his head. “I can’t let you see the book. You have the runes, don’t you? Perhaps you can find a clue there.”

Hermione sighed, the gesture tossing a wayward curl out of her face. “You’re not going to let me see that book, are you?”

“No.”

“No matter what I say?”

“No matter what you say.”

“What if I tried to sneak into where it’s being kept?”

Draco smirked. “You’d have to find it first. And we would have you caught a thousand times over before you even got close to it.”

Hermione huffed again. “Please?”

“No.”

“Merlin’s beard, Draco! What would you have me do? He’s my best friend! I can’t let him die because I couldn’t help him!”

“Hermione--” Draco sighed and shifted away from the fireplace. He didn’t approach her, just went around to sit at his desk again. “I know what he means to you. Merlin knows I’ve seen it since Hogwarts. But you can’t help him if we don’t know why you have this attachment to that book, an attachment that makes you lose control of yourself.”

He was right, damn him.

“I don’t have the runes.” Hermione mumbled in place of agreeing with him and Draco stared.

“What do you mean you don’t have--”

“I left them with your father. To see if he couldn’t find something else out for us.” Hermione interrupted him with irritation. “I don’t think he’d take kindly to my stopping by again so soon uninvited yet again.”

“Actually, I think he enjoyed the company.” Draco said and shook his head. “You’re more than welcome to owl him if you’d like to go back over.”

“I will think about it. For now, I’m going home.” Hermione said and stood up. “Please let me know if you find anything out. We need to get to the bottom of this.”

“Of course. You’ll be the first to know.” Draco smiled politely and stood also. Hermione turned her back on him and started for the door. She could stop by Kingsley’s office on the way out to talk about the case so far, she supposed. She hated doing it though because she didn’t really have a lead, only more mysteries.

“Get some rest Hermione. You’ll think better if you’re well-rested.”

She nodded and left his office. Since when was Draco a kind person? She shook her head and started back toward the lifts to go back to the atrium. She felt more dejected than ever and the solution to Harry’s problem seemed further out of her grasp than ever. She sighed as she climbed into the lift and moved the lever.

For the first time in a very long while, Hermione didn’t know what to do, and she didn’t like that feeling at all.


	10. Inductive Reasoning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone kindly pointed out that I had made Ron a little OOC and had bashed him a bit in the previous chapter. That was not my intention at all, so I hope I remedied that and will continue to keep an eye on that in future parts. Please let me know if I slip up again.
> 
> My apologies also for the delay. I'm trying to do better than one update a month but this chapter would not cooperate at all. :| With that being said, I hope you like it.

When Hermione stepped out of the lift, she was surprised to not find herself in the Ministry Atrium, but rather on the floor of the office of the Minister of Magic. She thought she must have pulled the lever too far over by mistake; her reluctance to speak to the Minister had dictated her return home or so she had thought, but since she was there, she decided she could go have a chat with him if he wasn’t busy since the lift doors were already closing behind her. Kingsley had the reputation of not sitting idly by--the way Fudge had done for all those years--and he was very proactive in getting things done, it was a reason why she didn’t want to see him now; she had nothing new to report really. Hermione admired him for his proactiveness, even if she didn’t always agree with what his goals were in the end. She supposed that was the life of any government official, as much as she hated thinking herself as one of those. Still, Kingsley would forever be a member of the Order and for that he had more than earned her respect, and she had earned his.

She walked out into the small reception area for the Minister and smiled tiredly at his secretary, a handsome red-haired wizard named Cephas. Cephas had a tendency to always smile a little too-wide for Hermione or other pretty girls whenever they had come to see Kingsley in the past. He was always the epitome of politeness, however, and the only rumor about him that went around the Ministry’s lower levels was that he liked a little too much sugar in his tea for other people’s liking.

Today was no exception when it came to mega-watt smiles.

“Miss Granger! Here to see the Minister, no doubt? I’ll let him know you’re waiting. He’s just finishing a conference chat via the Floo. Do have a seat won’t you?” The tall wizard asked, gesturing to a chair in the waiting room. Hermione accepted with a nod as she felt tired from the events of the day; she wasn’t sleepy, but the bone-crushing weariness was settling in for the third? fourth? day in a row, and she didn’t like that there was no cure for stress. Cephas must have noticed something was amiss from her silence and lack of engagement with his conversational skills--usually he could get a friendly hello if nothing else out of her--because a moment later, a nice warm cup of tea was sitting on the table next to her chair. Hermione made herself reach out and take the cup and enjoyed watching the curls of steam climb up into the air before she took a hesitant sip, careful not to burn herself.

It could have been an hour, or it could have been just a few moments, but Hermione stirred from her thoughts when she heard her name called in Kingsley’s familiar voice. She made herself extend her arms to place the still-steaming cup of barely-touched tea down and stood. Her back protested her poor posture but she started toward Kingsley’s outstretched hand to shake it in greeting. He flashed a white smile of his own, but she noticed his eyes were more calculating than those of Cephas, as he was quick to pull her into his office in a fluid motion with his hand resting comfortably on her mid-back.

“We’re not to be disturbed, Cephas.” Kingsley said jovially, but Hermione heard the firmer tone hiding in his politeness.

“Of course not Minister.” Cephas replied easily enough and the last Hermione saw of him before the door shut behind herself was him resuming his duties going through the Minister’s mail.

“Please sit down Hermione.” Kingsley indicated one of the numerous unoccupied chairs in his large office. He had decorated and expanded the office to suit his tastes, Hermione guessed since she didn’t imagine Cornelius Fudge or any of his successors having quite the same taste as the current design. It happened to appear that Kingsley favored the reclaimed industrial studio theme. He had several leather chairs; there were two by the fireplace, two in front of his desk which was a steel-and-glass creation, and another sofa by the large window with iron partitions that overlooked London. From the look of it, it was dusk, if not a little later. It was raining too. Paths of unchecked raindrops made their way down the glass as the street lamps outside in the city reflected orange against the heavy-laden clouds overhead.

Hermione was pulled out of her thoughts by Kingsley asking after Harry.

“He’s in a stable condition still.” Hermione replied back. Then frowned as she realized the passage of time again. “At least he was when I left a little while ago. The curse has not advanced.”

“Well that is good, at the very least. Are you alright, Hermione?” Kingsley asked and Hermione didn’t have to look over at his face to hear the frown that was inevitably on it. She realized she hadn’t sat down after they had entered the office and she was still standing, even though he had moved a few steps toward the direction of the fireplace and an empty chair beside it.

“I’m sorry, Minister. I’m just worried about Harry.”

“Understandable. Please do come sit down.” Kingsley said kindly and Hermione made herself move over to the other chair by the fireplace, her back to the window so she couldn’t be distracted by watching it rain. Kingsley settled himself across from her and watched her carefully. Hermione could only imagine what his assessment of her would be. 

“Hermione, I must ask your forgiveness for something.” Kingsley started and then shook his head slightly. “No, make that two things.”

Hermione frowned and looked at him then. “For what, sir?”

“Firstly, for putting so much on you right now with Potter being in the condition he’s in. You were correct, you aren’t an auror. But I do stand by what I said; there is a chance you could come up with something that the others don’t immediately see. You are a gifted witch. I think everyone knows that by now. I _am_ sorry for asking so much of you. I see now perhaps I shouldn’t have…” He trailed off but Hermione was going to interrupt him anyway.

“Thank _you_ Minister. Not for the apology, but for the chance to help my friend. I would have gone mad sitting in that room with Ginny worrying over him. Besides, I would have tried to help anyway, with or without your request.” What she didn’t say was that she was grateful for the chance to help save Harry’s life if she could. She only wished she was being more fruitful in her quest.

Kingsley let her speak but held up a finger when she paused for a breath and smiled a little at her admission of helping without being asked to. The flicker of a smile left his face before he continued.

“I will not argue with you on that but, forgive me again this will not exactly be kind, you look as though you are running yourself ragged Hermione. Exhaustion isn’t a good look on anyone, but least of all yourself.”

“Neither is dying from an unknown curse. Sir.” Hermione replied and Kingsley nodded his concession.

“Still, I am sorry. I do not wish for you to have ill health because of my request.”

“I’m worried about Harry, that’s all this is. I’d be in a right state regardless if I’m working for you or not. I _need_ him to be better. Ginny needs him. His children need him. I need him. Ron needs him. We all need him to be better and if I can help, then I’m going to.” Hermione stared right into the Minister’s eyes and dared him to say anything else on that subject. Kingsley deferred his eyes after a moment and Hermione felt a small measure of victory settled inside of herself. It was of little comfort. She _was_ tired, and she still didn’t have the answers they all needed to save Harry.

“What was the second thing?” She asked after Kingsley was still quiet for another few moments before he replied without looking at her.

“For not promoting you when you had rightly earned it.”

All of that seemed hardly relevant now, Hermione thought, but felt herself sitting up a little straighter and her fatigue fading just a little. The words ‘I knew it!’ were so very close to escaping her lips but she pressed them shut and gripped the arms of her chair a little tighter. She didn’t speak to interrupt though. She would let Kingsley finish what he had to say. However, he remained silent so Hermione was forced to say _some_ thing.

“Why didn’t you?” She bit her tongue before she added anything else that she might later regret.

Kingsley leaned back in his chair, wandlessly summoning a drink for himself. Hermione shook her head at his unspoken request of getting her one too; she was too anxious to hear what his reasoning was. He sipped his drink a moment before he finally looked at her.

“I can’t tell you the reason. Not yet.” Hermione felt anger mix with the disappointment in her stomach. “But you have to trust me. When the time comes, your place will be recognized and you will be the head of your department. You have my word.”

Hermione watched him and saw the promise of his vow in his eyes.

“Your word as Minister, or as a member of the Order?” Hermione asked, more bravely than she actually felt. Kingsley smiled a little again as he took another sip.

“As a man, Hermione. A member of the Order, though, if that settles your mind.”

It did, but Hermione now had even more questions on her plate. “Is my department being investigated for something?”

He smiled kindly and didn’t answer, though his eyes grew slightly colder. That was an indicative yes if she ever saw it, but she nodded.

“All right fine, you can’t tell me. I understand.” Internally her mind was racing. Who? Why? What for? _Alphard_ she thought first, but then shook her head. That was jumping to a conclusion.

“Now, what was it you came to see me about?” Kingsley said and pulled her from her racing thoughts.

Why had she come? Why hadn’t she just gone home as Draco had suggested? Kingsley was the second man in a day that said she looked like she needed rest. But why? She’d slept for hours--far longer than she usually did--that very morning. Had the stress of the whole situation gotten to her? The fight with Ron? Why was she so exhausted?

“I um...I don’t think Vanbjörn killed those people.” Hermione said and Kingsley raised an eyebrow.

“It is my understanding that no arrests have been made yet in the Powell case. Have you spoken to the wizard?”

“Ron has had him brought in and seems to think he’s guilty. I haven’t spoken to the man, but it just doesn’t make any sense. So he was in the area, but what does that have to do with anything? I’m sure loads of people could have been in the area.” Hermione said with a shrug and heard the thunder rumble again. A storm was coming closer.

“I’m sure if Weasley had him brought in then there was a very good reason.” Kingsley replied and Hermione tried to fight her skepticism. Ronald could sometimes be rash and make quick judgments, but his instincts _were_ usually right, Hermione had to admit.

“Maybe, but I just don’t know. It doesn’t feel right to me.” Hermione frowned and recalled what the article had said. Then something else occurred to her. “ _Could_ I speak to him?”

“I suppose, but only once the aurors have finished with him. That should be sometime tomorrow, I would imagine.” Kingsley replied. “I’ll have Cephas get a pass for you so you can speak to him without bother tomorrow in the holding cells.”

“Thank you, Minister.”

“Do you have any other ideas?”

“There’s a strange book I found, but I’m not sure about where that is going yet. It’s with the Unspeakables now being studied.” Kingsley nodded and finished his drink. “And there’s still the matter of that missing girl. Something isn’t right about the fact she was there then simply vanished. I don’t think Ron was right to dismiss that so quickly.”

“Well, I trust you to have it in hand. Is there anything I can do for you? Any resource or tool that you need the Minister to get for the impeccable Hermione Granger?” He said with a smile that Hermione recognized as his teasing one.

 _Besides the Malfoy library?_ She thought with a tiny smile of her own. Then something else occurred to her.

“I do have a few questions for you, actually.” Kingsley nodded and she continued after trying to think for a moment of how to phrase them. “If, let’s just say, that I thought something...unusual and probably illegal, was going on in the Ministry, how would I report it if I wasn’t exactly someone of a credible reputation?”

Kingsley raised his eyebrow. “What sort of unusual illegal activity?”

Hermione wasn’t sure there. The Phantom hadn’t been so kind as to give her any information as to what to look for exactly. “Um...let’s say corruption?”

“Well, it would have to be investigated. It depends entirely on who was the supposed-corrupt person and what exactly the form of corruption was. If it was bribery, or favoritism, or what have you. As for the source’s reputation, that would also have to be weighed. Are they doing this for revenge? Is it credible information? Why are they making these accusations?” Kingsley watched her carefully. “Is there someone or something you wanted to report?”

The warmth of his eyes was back and his tone was comforting in a way that allowed Hermione to feel as though she could tell him just about anything. She could tell him about the strange dreams of the phantom and how he came to her and they had some sort of connection. She could tell him about the book and how it truly called to her to the point where she lost her senses. She could tell him about Ron and how she wasn’t sure about his fidelity, or how she’d had a really embarrassing dream about Draco Malfoy’s father… A blush started to rise on her cheeks and she tramped all those thoughts down. Kingsley was Minister for a reason; people trusted him with their secrets. He was offering that comfortable, safe trap for her and she refused to step into it.

“No, Minister. I was merely wondering.”

“Very well then, Hermione.” Kingsley said and Hermione got the impression he didn’t believe her but he wouldn’t pry further. “If there is nothing else…?”

“Am I allowed to discuss this case with Ron?” She asked, remembering her argument earlier.

“If you find it helps, yes. Otherwise, you don’t have to.”

Hermione nodded. “Thank you. I’ll be going home, I think. I will return tomorrow to speak to Mr. Vanbjörn. And thank you again for that, Kingsley.” 

“Of course, Hermione.” Kingsley said with a smile and started to walk her to the door after they both had stood up. “I’ll make sure the wizards downstairs know to expect you. I’ll have one of the Aurors owl you when they have finished.”

“Thank you.” Hermione gave him another handshake just before she opened the door and Cephas was already waiting for her on the other side. The rumble of thunder disappeared as the door shut behind Kingsley as he returned to his office and Hermione started once again for the lifts.

\----------

By the time she had taken a made herself a warm bowl of soup, some tea, and had gotten comfortable with Crookshanks in her favorite oversized armchair, the storm outside had completely blown in with the full force of a gale. The thunder was continuous, making Crookshanks stay particularly close to her side, and the rain and wind lashed at the windows. It would be a foul night to be out if you had to be, Hermione thought and started on her supper while keeping a book levitated above her tray so that she could read without having to balance the tray and the book.

She was finished with her dinner and still reading when the front door opened and Ron came in, dripping on the floor. He shut the door, locked it, and waved his wand over himself drying his robes with only a slight amount of steam as he did so. He came further into the flat and Hermione closed her book as he came to stop by the door and leaned against the frame just watching her.

Hermione pet Crookshanks absently as they looked over the expanse of their living room at one another, both recalling the words from earlier. Ron’s eyes softened a little, though his jaw remained a little tighter than it normally would have been. Hermione was about to apologize when Ron spoke first.

“Do you remember in third year when that creature,” he nodded to Crookshanks, “tried to kill Scabbers?”

“I do.” Hermione wondered where he was going with this.

“Do you remember how I thought he’d killed my rat?” Hermione nodded. “Sometimes, I wish he had. Then maybe things would have turned out a little differently. Maybe Cedric Diggory would still be alive, maybe my brother would still be up to no good with George. Maybe Harry would still have Sirius, and maybe Teddy would still have his parents. Maybe Harry would have gone away with Sirius as they bonded and he never would have become an auror which meant he never would have been in that house and he wouldn’t be in the state he’s in now because of it.”

Ron came to sit down on the sofa next to Hermione’s chair as he spoke. By the time he finished, he looked as tired as Hermione had felt earlier and Hermione’s expression softened considerably. She reached out and rested her hand on his arm. Ron laid his own hand over hers and squeezed lightly.

“I also know that if none of those things had happened, then there would always be the chance that we never would have gone after those horcruxes. And there would always be that risk that You-Know-Who would come back to power. So, I am glad at least, for that. That he can’t.” Ron swallowed and Hermione wondered if he was thinking about Fred.

“Ron, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so critical of your case.” Hermione meant it. She thought he was wrong about Vanbjörn, but she could have phrased it better, or at least said so in a kinder way. Or at least not in front of his family.

“It’s not just about the case, though, is it?” Ron looked at her then and Hermione felt something shift inside of her, something she knew she wasn’t going to like. “You disappeared and you didn’t tell me anything about where you were going. You didn’t trust me.”

“I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to.” She replied honestly and then winced at how it sounded, especially when Ron tensed under her hand. “I mean…”

“Kingsley. I get it.” He shook his head and sighed, leaning back into the sofa cushions, her hand sliding off his arm as he did. She folded her hands in her lap after she moved her tray to the table along with her book. “Can’t you tell me what he’s asked you to look into?”

Hermione didn’t think Ron would like being told she was officially allowed to double-check his work. But if he didn’t find out now, from her, then he could find out later from someone else and then his temper really would kick off. She had no choice.

“Kingsley asked me to look over the house in Hampshire, just to see if I found anything the aurors missed.”

He reacted about as well as she expected. “ _WHAT?!_

“Ron, please don’t shout. I’m tired and we’ve already argued once today.” Hermione silently cast a silencing spell around their apartment just in case.

“Hermione--this really isn’t a job for those without experience! You could be hurt! You have no training in the field! Someone could hurt you.” He was going to continue, but Hermione shook her head and waited till he took a breath before she started.

“I had no experience in hunting horcruxes either when I was a teenager, but we did all right then, didn’t we? I had no experience dueling through the second War, but here we are now. I had no experience traipsing around in the woods with you and Harry, and yet _here we are_. Kingsley asked me to help and I said I would. If the Minister thinks I have what it takes to help, then damn it Ronald Weasley, who are you to tell me differently? Harry is my best friend too, and you better believe I would do anything it took to get him back.”

She had stood up while she was talking, furious tears in her eyes as she did so. She was looking down at Ron who was staring up at her in silence. They remained heated, tense, but it was Ron that breathed first and he nodded while pulling on Hermione’s hand lightly to bring her to sit next to him on the sofa. She recognized his concession as Crookshanks stretched in the now empty chair he had full claim over. Ron slid his arm around her shoulders and kept her close.

“You’re right, there. Getting Harry back is the important thing. I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you, ‘Mione. I love you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Go to more Quidditch matches, I expect.” Hermione replied, leaning into his body and Ron relaxed a little beside her.

“Most definitely.” He smiled a little but then again said in a serious tone, “I do love you, Hermione.”

“I know. I love you too.” Hermione proved it by kissing him and lingering a moment beside him.

“We can discuss the case if you’d like?” Ron said a few minutes after the kiss ended.

Hermione shook her head. “Not right now.” Hermione rested her head on Ron’s shoulder and relaxed into him, as she thought about the memories of their earlier school years that he brought up by mentioning Scabbers.

Something very dark settled in her stomach then, fighting the comfortableness of the moment she had put herself in with Ron. A recurring ghost from her second, fourth, fifth, and seventh years at Hogwarts represented himself in her mind and she felt very guilty indeed. Ron had only lost one sibling to the War, but he had almost lost another a few years before that terrible night in Hogwarts and one man beside Voldemort was responsible for that.

The man she had a very detailed graphic dream about. The one who had the most wonderful library she had ever seen. The one who had on multiple occasions tried to kill her and her friends. The man--for some damn reason--she had decided to befriend the night before.

Lucius Malfoy.

She had not forgotten his crimes during her stay in his house, but she had been able to overlook them when he was so very present in front of her being courteous and--had she never met him before--entirely unbiased when it came to anything pertaining to blood status. If anything, house rivalry was the thing that was now most pressing to him now, and that wasn’t even in a vindictive kind of way.

Now that she was away from him, away from his intense eyes, handsome face, and magnetic aura, it was much more clear and hard to hide from the black and white truth of what he had done to Ron’s family, to herself, to Harry. Lucius Malfoy’s record was under a beam of bright white light and there was nowhere for it to hide. If it were several years ago, he would not have hesitated to kill her or any of the Weasleys, or Harry to advance his cause. _But it wasn’t really_ his _cause now, was it?_ But that didn’t matter. He had still supported it.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably while simultaneously pressing herself closer to Ron to remind herself what was real, what she should be focusing on. She wouldn’t blame Ron in the least for yelling at her if he ever found out about her time spent in the Malfoy library. She felt like a traitor for having enjoyed herself so much, for offering her friendship so casually when Lucius would never have done the same in reversed situations. How could she have been so careless?

She should have gone straight to his library, used it for what it was worth, and then left. She shouldn’t have stayed for dinner. She shouldn’t have talked to him. And she certainly she never have dreamt about him or slept in his house. The fact she was still alive and not jinxed into the grave was a miracle in and of itself, especially when no one but Draco had known where she’d gone. _That_ was reckless, and she would have to leave better word next time before she went back. _If_ she went back, she corrected herself mentally.

Already, she knew that she would. If Draco and Lucius were right and there was a second layer to those runes, Lucius could probably translate them faster, especially if he knew what dialect they were coming from. On the other hand, she could just send him an owl asking for any notes he may have and never actually have to see him again. She chewed her lip in thought when she felt Ron mve beside her.

“Let’s go to bed. Lot’s to do tomorrow.” Ron said and brushed his lips against her temple. Hermione nodded, trying to stop her thoughts from running away with her. She would have to politely rescind her offer of friendship, that was all. Or perhaps they could be polite acquaintances, but no more?

As she walked to their bedroom with Ron, Hermione warred with herself for even caring about Lucius’ feelings in the first place. It wasn’t as if he would have cared about hers, was it? Hermione kept trying to make him unfeeling, cold, but as she did so, her mind argued back by recalling his face when he’d spoken about Narcissa leaving and about Severus. Perhaps he just buried his emotions extremely deep down? Perhaps she just needed to stop thinking about Malfoy senior and focus on what was tangible.

Ron kissed her again as they came to a stop in the bedroom. He held her close and squeezed her bum gently, invitingly but Hermione shook her head slightly. He nodded and kissed her again before turning to go get ready for bed. Hermione let out her breath and went to look out of the window at the storm that was continuing to light up the sky. She didn’t move again until she heard Ron come out of the bathroom and start to pull the blankets down on their bed. She turned away from the window and started to help him.

He kissed her again before turning out the lights with a wave of his wand that he then placed on the nightstand and settled in to sleep by pulling her close against him. With her back to his chest and his arm wrapped around her waist, Hermione did feel safe and comfortable in his arms.

As she watched the lightning light up the sky and reflect on the wall, Hermione tried not to remember the dream she’d had, yet it was difficult. The dream had been so vivid, so expressive it felt as if it had been real and that she had truly been made love to. She had never felt like that before, so wanton so satisfied. She grimaced. It was a dream, a fantasy about another man. It didn’t mean anything; it really, really didn’t mean that she liked Lucius _that_ way. He just happened to be handsome and available, and a good conversationalist. And Hermione had Ron, and Ron was wonderful too and made her feel things also. Ron was real where Lucius was not; Ron was good where Lucius was not; and Ron was also in love with her, where Lucius was not. Not that she wanted him to be, she added quickly to her internal ramblings.

Hermione’s mind went round and round in circles until she at last fell asleep in the middle of making a mental pros and cons list about being friends with the Malfoy’s.

 

A loud rumble of thunder woke her up some time later along with the realization that she was cold. She reached back for Ron only to find the bed empty. She opened her eyes sleepily and saw him at the window when the sound of rain and thunder grew louder.

“What--?” She asked, rubbing her eyes amongst yawning.

“An owl.” Ron allowed entry for the owl who shook its wet feathers, sending droplets around the room. Ron had his wandtip illuminated and looked at the front of the letter whose intended recipient's name had been smudged due to the rain. He frowned and turned the letter over and then his eyes narrowed. “Why is Malfoy sending you a letter?”

Hermione sat up and turned the lights on, blinding herself temporarily as she did so. “What?” She blinked past the irritation and watery eyes while extending her hand. “Let me see it.”

Ron handed over the letter and crossed his arms as the owl left the window sill to seek warmer and dryer accommodation in the living room. Crookshanks had migrated into their room also at some point and was stretching at the end of the bed. With shaking hands, Hermione opened the letter and immediately looked at the bottom of the letter to see who had sent it. She relaxed slightly when she saw it was from Draco and not his father.

“It’s from Draco.” She said and then started to read the letter.

“Well, of course it is. Why would anyone else in that family write to _you_?” He shook his head and came back to bed as Hermione frowned while reading Draco’s short note.

“I have to go.” Hermione said when she’d finished and Ron paused midway to getting back under the blankets.

“What in Merlin’s name are you talking about? It’s the middle of the night!”

“You don’t understand,” Hermione said already getting out of bed. “There’s been a break in in the Department of Mysteries.” She started for the closet. “That thing that Kingsley was having me look into is still there, or at least it was.”

“What’s Malfoy got to do with it?” Ron asked, voice cold when thinking of his former classmate.

Hermione chewed her lip. She hoped she wouldn’t compromise things too much for telling a little bit of the truth. “I was working with him in the department. He promised to keep me up to date if anything changed, and well, something’s changed.”

She started to get dressed and was coming out of her closet when she saw Ron getting dressed also.

“What are you doing?”

“Well,” Ron said sitting down to put his shoes on. “If there was a break in, then the aurors are going to have to look into it. And if there wasn’t, then you’re going to be walking into a trap and I don’t think I’ll be letting you do that alone any time soon.”

“You think the letter was a trick?” Hermione asked, not having considered that.

“It really won’t matter, provided I’m there to help if it was. If everything is fine and the aurors on scene don’t need me, then I’ll come straight home, I promise.” Ron said, holding his hand over his heart. Hermione smiled and moved over to kiss him again.

“Thank you, Ron.” _For not being angry_ she added mentally and relaxed a little.

“Just be glad it’s too early in the morning for me to be pissed off that you’re working with the ferret.”

Hermione saved her ‘he’s not so bad, he’s changed’ comment and nodded as they both got ready to leave their flat and head back into the Ministry. The idea that Ron was right about the letter being a ploy just to get her into the Ministry in the middle of the night nagged at her mind as Ron and she set off for the apparation point.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempted work in this fandom of this scale, and hopefully it's not too terrible. This is just the sampler, I promise more to come soon. Please leave me your thoughts as concrit is definitely welcome and I look forward to writing more!


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